


The End is Never the End

by HobbitHoleDestroyer



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysphoria, Depression, Found Family, Healing, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Therapy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 103,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitHoleDestroyer/pseuds/HobbitHoleDestroyer
Summary: Post-S4After his daughter is taken from him, John Watson must decide whether to succumb to the misery of his lifetime of misfortunes or to make a new life worth living for.When pushed to the very edge, every last hope gone, someone passes through, and John feels alive once more.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Thorin Oakenshield/John Watson
Comments: 63
Kudos: 190





	1. Ch.1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary 2: John Watson goes on a journey to find himself and meets Richard Durin (Thorin Oakenshield, but he's always been human and in Sherlockverse). He must continue to learn himself while maintaining balance of a budding friendship that he hopes may one day turn into more. SLOOOOW BURN, self discovery, etc etc.

The end came swiftly. It was surreal and rushed. The details didn’t seem to matter once it was over.

It was all very sudden - the feeling of an empire crumbling, an age coming to an end. The unpleasantness in their lives was supposed to be over. No more criminal masterminds, no more nemeses. The cases never ceased, but the stakes decreased. That cravable intensity diminished. The inherited thrills and chases, the work, notoriety and the sense of accomplishment petered out. 

The appeal evaporated.

What had been close to a decade of experiencing London, and the whole of England, in a new light had collapsed all at once. A crash that certainly should have meant a coming of peace and of happiness for them, except for the fact that those feelings never came. 

The cases were all that kept him going at one point - no, at several points of his life. Even when they had been absent, the memories helped him remain afloat in a world that felt broken beyond repair.

The rush and excitement was gone. They both had to create new priorities to fill the void left in the wake of their last major case together. They saw each other less. They spoke even less than that. In the absence of their enemies, the bad guys less clever, the cases far more boring, the drift felt instant.

It had been years in the making, but in the climax of this last venture, it seemed as though a chapter had closed. 

Maybe it was for the best. While a handful of reconciliations took place - if one could call making light of the situation a reconciliation - there were plenty of events and actions in their friendship that chipped away at them. In another time, in different circumstances, these could have been fixed, but the way they each operated was deeply ingrained in them. Who could honestly expect any different from the British? They never spoke about the things that transpired between them, nor what could have been. This repression had been the final nail in the coffin of which they’d built for each other since the day they met.

It was easier to quietly let go anyway. Far less painful.

Months had gone on in exactly this fashion. Each to their own. John had no idea what Sherlock did these days. He would insist that this didn’t bother him down to his core, he only hoped that his expression and actions did not betray his feelings, like they had so many times before.

Bothered or not, life had to go on, whether Sherlock was a major part of it or not.

This morning was typical, John driving Rosie to a daycare center so that he may spend another day as a physician, a job that felt increasingly dull, and if it were not for the fact that he would be doing nothing otherwise, he wouldn’t bother coming in. Mary had left behind a great wealth - no doubt from her days as an assassin - so the pay itself was unnecessary. No Sherlock meant that there was nothing else to do, for there wasn’t much in the way of other friends or family in John’s solitary lifestyle.

He used to make an effort. Before he was married, he did all that he could to surround himself with others, may that be with members of his old squadron, Scotland Yard’s head detective, or whatever lady he felt he could confidently introduce to his bed. While marriage had bored him to tears, the foreign responsibility of the situation had ruined any vestige of a life outside of it. Without Sherlock to force him out of his home, he became odd, secluded, reverting back to his state of major depression.

Some days he relished the idea of doing whatever the hell he felt like, consequences be damned. Surely Mycroft had the power to get him off the hook for anything he could do. It was a thought that made him feel powerful, so powerful that it made him sick, and he would instantly dismiss the idea, locking it back up into the recesses of his mind. Better to not entertain such concepts, he told himself.

Rosie tittered in the carseat just behind him, breaking through his thoughts momentarily. The idea of being a stay-at-home father had flashed into his mind once or twice, but in reality, he still feared his position. With his own upbringing being the way it had been, who was to say he would do any better of a job on his own? No, the idea sent cold flashes throughout his body, his hands trembling on the wheel. He refused to subject her to that. It was far safer to drop her off with people who knew how to care for children.

John looked up and realized that his monotonous drive had ended, being guided to the daycare on muscle memory, mainly. He steeled himself for a moment before removing himself, and then Rosie, from the car. She held his hand, producing various noises from her mouth and giggling as she skipped up the steps, her father feeling slightly uplifted at the display, the corners of his lips turned upward at the burst of love blossoming in his chest. As bleak as his world has been, his daughter created a bright and sunny spot worth living in.

“Hello Rosie!” a daycare assistant squeaked out as they came in through the door. John flashed a quick smile as Rosie began to babble at her, and he turned right around and out the door again to make his escape. 

The door shut lightly behind him and he winced to himself. Stepping back into his car and shutting the door, he took a minute to rub at his leg. The aches were returning, he became less sociable, and his routine became far more difficult to continue following. Solving cases had kept many of these pains at bay for years. Even when Sherlock was...away...their memory, largely untainted at that point had reduced these symptoms greatly, at least enough to keep trudging on forward like he always did. 

He took a breath and pushed the misery of it all aside. There was still a place for him, somewhere that people needed him. He started the car and took off down the road to his practice.

~

Several hours in, John laid his head down on his desk. It was about time to take his lunch, and the endless onslaught of sore throats, odd rashes, and ignorant inquiries had drained him. Just another day.

A knock on his door left him fighting down a groan, shouting out a, “Come in!” before he had any ideas of creating any less stable of a work environment than he already had. He had a temper, it couldn’t be helped, he assured himself.

The assistant he had hired after last week’s tiff stepped in, phone in hand. “There’s a call for you, Dr. Watson. It sounds personal?”

John cheered up instantly. He pushed away from his office chair, taking the phone from her with a mouthed, “thank you,” a nod to let his new assistant know to close the door behind her. She rolled her eyes and did so.

Sitting back in his chair, John began, “Hello, Dr. Watson speaking, how can I help you?”

He would be lying if he had told himself that he wasn’t convinced it would be Sherlock, he had always half expected every interruption to be Sherlock, but this didn’t stop him when he became sorely disappointed by the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s about Rosie.” 

Several moments went by before John registered what had been said. The sudden nausea hit him full force and he fell back to his chair. “What about her, what’s wrong?”

“She ain’t yours, mate. She’s mine and I’m taking her.”

“Who is this?” The seething fury replacing his previous nausea burst throughout his body, his voice projecting louder than was necessary, certainly disturbing everyone on the other side of his office’s walls.

“It’s David, y’know, Mary’s ex? Look man, the kid’s mine and I won’t let you keep her!”

The next several moments were a storm, John shouting into the phone, nurses and assistants rushing in to pacify him, and the inevitable slump of John’s body as the adrenaline fueled rage dissipated. 

No. There was never a true end to his torment. There was always something else just waiting to rear its ugly head around the corner. That’s how his life has always played out, and surely it would continue to be so.

~

John went home early, at the behest of several of his coworkers. Rosie was still in daycare, the best place she could be in this moment of John’s turmoil - not that he would ever intentionally bring her any harm, but so that she didn’t have to bear witness to the oncoming breakdown. 

At some point since he’d arrived home, he had collapsed to the floor, entirely unable to pick himself back up. The rush of emotion was paralyzing, his heart threatened to evacuate his chest, his veins turned to ice. His sobs wracked his body, his mind completely blank.

The moment his brain began to function, it all overwhelmed him again. The thoughts rushed him and his lungs and heart ached in their abuse.

He prayed for a life that only hours ago felt repetitive and worthless. He couldn’t lose what was left of his family. After devoting his entire life to being the punching bag of others just for the hopes that they would stay by him, how could he not be rewarded this one thing? Maybe god had used the last of his good graces in saving him from sure-death in that desert, but what was it for if his life from that point on involved the further degradation of his worth, his character, and his self?

He choked here and there, the lack of oxygen to his overworked system threatening to fell him. He would have preferred to lose consciousness, the trains of thought coursing through him would cease, at the very least. 

An imperceptible amount of time later, he lifted himself to his arms and knees on twitching muscles. Dizziness hit him in waves as the air began to flow throughout his body once more. John forced himself to recall bits of his therapy sessions he had dutifully ignored in the moment. 

Now oxygenated, he began to count the seconds of his inhales and exhales. Once he had managed to take in three seconds of breath at least, he rose back to his feet, reaching out for the arm of a chair to steady him as he willed himself to calm down.

His muscles continued to shake and his knees buckled as he hobbled his way into the kitchen to make himself some tea. As he reheated the water remaining from this morning, John leaned heavily against the counter, his elbows bruising against the granite tops. His head hung low while he listened to the rumbling of the water. 

John attempted to ease the dizzying fury and calm himself further, in one of the few ways he was comfortable with: harsh reasoning.

‘It was never real. It was all faked from the very beginning. And even when the truth came out, you convinced yourself it would be better to pretend it was all fine. Did you really think sweeping her issues under the rug would fix anything?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Everything she had ever told me was a lie, why would I think it would be any different moving forward? I was an idiot to trust that I made any difference to her.’

He allowed himself to drown in these thoughts. As much as he wished they were untrue, that David was lying to him, that Mary had loved him to some degree, that Rosie was his flesh and blood.

As the kettle clicked to indicate it was finished, John steeled himself. ‘No, it doesn’t matter what Mary did. It doesn’t matter what David is telling me now. Rosie is my daughter. I’ve raised her and David hasn’t the power to do anything about it. She’s my girl and I won’t give up this easily.’

Abandoning the thought of a cup of tea, John reached for his car keys and shoved off out the door. He was going to go pick up his daughter, and they were going to go out for ice cream. Rosie deserved a father that was fully present and cared for her, and he vowed to do everything in his power to fulfill that.

HE was Rosie’s father, blood or not. That twat David could shove it.

~

It came as no surprise when a week later, John found a letter from David’s attorney in the mail. It detailed that he was out to bring the law into this matter. John scoffed at it. There was a tough chance that it would be ruled in David’s favor. John had been Rosie’s father from the second he delivered her, and there wasn’t a court in the land that would take an estranged biological father’s side on the matter.

As much as he still wanted to believe that Rosie was his by blood, John knew that it didn’t matter, and that he loved her no matter what. She was his family, and no one could take that from them.

The ache in his chest came whenever he thought of the concept: family. It’s what everyone was meant to have, wasn’t it? A pillar of society, the family. But his was so small. It always had been. Even when there were relatives at holiday parties, immediate family day-to-day, and occasional letters from his sister during active duty, it never felt as though he received the experience that others did.

Thinking back, John recalled meeting Sherlock’s parents - and many weeks later truly getting to know them - and being amazed that people as rude and prickly as Sherlock and Mycroft could have such a loving, involved family. 

He shook his head to deter the line of thought. No. Every family had issues. An outsider looking in could have a far different perception. He knew bits and pieces about the Holmes family in its entirety, the issues they’d faced.

But then again, knowing fully well the experience of his own family complicated the idea. He couldn’t wait to get out of his situation, and when he had left, it was mainly his sister who still spoke to him. Mainly to ask for favors, but it was a contact that - when he was single - got him through his military career. Someone cared - even if only because John was capable of providing them with something.

John wandered to the kitchen table with today’s mail clutched in his hand. It simply wasn’t worth it to linger on family he had rare contact with now. He had business to take care of.

Flipping through the dull type from the attorney, John highlighted several dates and times in which they would be meeting to sort the mess out. The first of these was for a paternity test two weeks from today. The others were potential court dates.

While this had all initially bothered him, John worried less and less as the days passed. Everything would turn out for the better.

A patterned knocking at his front door drew him from his task, and he brightened a little, knowing for sure who it would be.

The front door swung open and shut, a tall, dark figure moving through the house. John watched as the form skirted around him to the kitchen cupboard, reaching up for a pack of biscuits he kept out of Rosie’s reach. 

“Nice to finally see you again, Sherlock.”

John largely ignored the biting and crumbling noise behind him in favor of stuffing his papers back into the envelope in front of him. Not that there was much need to hide it, he was certain that Sherlock already found out about it somehow. He’d always been like that. In fact, it was likely his reason for the sudden intrusion after a few months of zero contact.

He stared at Sherlock’s back, getting lost in the dark curls around his head. John waited and waited for some form of acknowledgement. When none came, John left the room, the sound of a mug being heavily set to the counter and large hands shuffling in his pantry. 

John pinned the dates to his calendar and checked the clock on his wall, wondering if it was time to pick up Rosie. With no pressing matters and Sherlock still keeping to himself, John flopped down on the couch and put on some television. It was funny, John told himself, how alone he could feel, even with his best and maybe only friend under the same roof as him.

Minutes turned to hours, and it finally came time to head to the daycare. As much as John wished to comment on how Sherlock was ignoring him in his own home, he decided to just swipe his keys and leave, the fast pinch of anger telling him to be petty - to ignore him right back.

It was no surprise to John that Sherlock was gone by the time he had returned with his daughter. Even with the bare bones interactions the two had these days, each one left John a little more drained. He couldn’t quite place it, but just like most things in his life at this point, every little thing ate away at him.

After Rosie was fed and tucked into bed, it still bothered John. He tallies all of the cons of his existence, and when he was sufficiently miserable, he put himself to bed. It kept him in place, he told himself. It’s good to know where you stand.

In a few days time, the first trial of his most pressing issue would come to pass.


	2. Chapter 2

Mercifully, his alarm woke him from another nightmare, the frequency of which increased dramatically since the troubles with David had been laid down. 

John snorted at the idea. How far has he fallen to thank an alarm for interrupting his sleep? It didn't matter, him and Rosie had somewhere to be today. 

He pushed himself up and out of bed, adjusting his pajamas which had twisted in his fitful sleep, and made his way down the hall to his daughter’s room.

John gave the door a few short knocks and waited for a response. When none came, he tapped out a few more, this time producing a high pitch and incoherent whine. He smiled to himself and opened the door. 

“Good morning, sweetie, it’s time to get up,” he said, his voice light, but low. His throat hurt, likely from crying out throughout the night, but he would not allow Rosie to catch on to this if he could help it.

He hated to admit it, but there was an odd night here and there that he would wake to his daughter pulling at his cheeks, swinging her stuffed animals at him, anything to wake him from his fits. It terrified him to think of the effects this may have on her, seeing him as vulnerable or possessed or crazy. In the mornings following, he would berate himself for lacking the strength to toughen out his trauma, telling himself that his daughter did not deserve a father that she felt the need to take care of herself. 

This was often the case when he was a child, feeling as though he had to take care of everyone, namely his alcoholic parents and later his alcoholic sister.

Rosie’s eyes were finally blinking in wakefulness, her arms stretched up toward John, to which he immediately got the clue. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, hoisting her up onto his hip while she held tight around his neck. She was getting bigger and a little heavier, but John would cherish every moment he got to hold her while he could still manage to get her up.

He carried her down the hall, setting her gently in her chair in the kitchen, then getting to work preparing her breakfast. It was going to be a long day, and certainly a very long, boring day for Rosie. It made his stomach churn. He wished that there was no need to do this, that this problem didn’t exist, to pretend that David had fully fucked off long ago so that John could continue living out the rest of his pathetic life and give his all to his precious child.

Maybe his all wasn’t enough, he worried.

He munched on his toast while Rosie dug into her cereal across from him. She was slow to wake up. When left to wake on her own time she would babble around a mouthful of food, talking about this kid at preschool, what she’d seen on tv, her dreams, her thoughts...John chided the poor manners with no real weight. He was thankful that she was so spirited. It made up for his lack thereof. This morning however, he was far more grateful for her silence, as usually he could pretend to keep up with her, but his thoughts were quite far away.

When they both finished up, they piled into the car, making their way to the clinic. Just outside the door stood David. John hadn’t seen him in person since the wedding. At the time he could have cared less, perhaps speaking to the true nature of his tenuous feelings for the woman he was marrying more so than his lack of jealousy. The matter at hand today was far more of a concern to John.

“John,” David acknowledged. John nodded in response as they all made their way inside. 

Once checked in, the three sat down in the waiting room. Rosie quickly grew bored and danced her way around the small room, grabbing the attention of the room’s other inhabitants and earning a kind smile here and there. John gently reined her in, at least to lower her voice and tell her not to wander so far from him. He looked up in time to see David staring at her, a far-off and sad look on his face. John’s stomach dropped and his own discomfort steadily increased, so much that the tremor in his hand started up and his leg began to ache. 

Eventually they were called back. John hardly paid attention. He knew how this worked. His and David’s samples were taken, then John absently comforted Rosie as she had hers taken as well.

The results would be expedited so that they could find out who Rosie’s biological father was that day, but it still required more waiting. 

“Daddy, why are we here?” Rosie asked after another hour of waiting. John’s face contorted in worry as several people began to stare in their direction and whisper to each other. He scrambled to find something to say to her. He’d not explained the “doctor’s visit” in much detail, mostly because he wished to shield her from worrying to the same degree as he had been. John wanted to bear this burden for her. She didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of this.

“Because I might be your daddy, dear,” David replied to her. 

Rosie stared at David for a moment in confusion, then turned to look John in the eye. The rage that had built in that moment extinguished at the hurt John witnessed in his daughter’s eyes. He couldn’t think of anything to say to her. He couldn’t rightly tell her this was untrue, and any deeper response he had used to placate himself had been washed away at this moment.

“And if you are, you’re going to live with me,” David continued. 

This flipped the switch to put John straight back into his rage. Being in public, and in front of his daughter, he tried his absolute best to keep the temper under control, working to say his peace in the most socially acceptable manner.

“She’s my daughter. I raised her. And she’s staying with me,” he said through grit teeth, the vein in his forehead threatening to burst. David scoffed, turning his gaze to the floor.

John worked to control his breathing, aided significantly when Rosie grew tired and laid her head in his lap as she stretched out on the waiting room’s chairs. He stroked her hair, tucking the flyaways behind her ear and giving her a few gentle pats on the back. 

After another hour, the results were ready. John and David were taken to a smaller room to speak with the legal representative. Knowing that no matter the result, things were likely to get messy, John asked a nearby nurse if they could watch over Rosie for a moment. The nurse nodded in understanding, and he went on to hear the results. 

The legal rep made short work of introductions and various options going forward. Even so, each minute dragged on for John, who by now began to pale and sweat. ‘Just get it over with….’

His focus had waned greatly until the man in front of them pulled out the lab results, looking them over. It became harder to breathe, to swallow, to tell himself it would all be okay. He had already considered the possibility, but when reality came to pass, there was no way to be fully prepared. 

“It appears that David is Rosie’s biological father.”

A sigh of relief came from John’s right. 

John hung his head. His eyes burned, his heart grew heavier. Conversation continued, the representative likely all too familiar with the situation. It was better to get on with the rest quickly before violence could ensue, but the fight was gone from John’s body. The walls he’d built and rebuilt around himself in the last couple weeks came crumbling once more.

The other two had left the room, the details of the day done. John took several moments to get himself under control, at least enough to face his daughter again. He shakily stepped out of the room, certain that his eyes were still red from crying, but it was time to go home. He was exhausted, and it was about time for Rosie’s lunch.

John located Rosie, taking hold of her hand and leading her back to the car. He took a look at her, her eyes looking back in a sort of half-understanding. John gave her a weak smile, before driving them back home. It took everything in him to hold himself together on the long drive back. He willed himself not to think, not to look at his daughter, not to show her how much he was hurting. She put up with too much of him already. He couldn’t stand to be failing her right now, even if leaving her in the dark may have been equally damaging. She didn’t have to hurt NOW, he reasoned. 

Arriving home, John made a beeline for the kitchen, preparing Rosie’s next meal and setting it on the table for her. As she pulled up her chair and began to eat, John made his way to the hall. 

“Well, that was exhausting. I’m gonna go take a nap. Just wake me up and let me know when you’re hungry again, alright kiddo?” Rosie nodded and he turned away.

Removing his jacket, he flopped down onto his bed, not bothering with the covers. He planted his face into the pillow and told himself it was alright to let it out now that he was alone, but the tears didn’t come, nor the anger or frustration. It remained bottled inside, unable to come out.

It wasn’t long before he fell asleep. He slept for hours. A fitful sleep though it was, he did not wake until the next morning. Upon waking, he berated himself for letting Rosie down again for not providing her dinner. 

Maybe it would be for the best if Rosie had someone else for a father. All he did was let her down. 

The previous day’s tears came flowing. He always feared that he couldn’t be a parent, and maybe his fears were becoming reality. Maybe his own parents had set him up to fail in this endeavor. As much as he loved Rosie, he was awkward, he just didn’t know fully what to do, how to care for a child.

Maybe David could do better.

He choked on a sob at the thought. He forced his body to get up. He wouldn’t give up on her. Rosie deserved better, and as he’d already convinced himself, it didn’t matter if she was his by blood or not. He would do what he could to give her the best childhood possible.

When Rosie woke up and wandered to the kitchen, she was delighted to see a full breakfast of french toast, eggs, and bacon on the table.

At her squeal, John whipped around and picked her up. “Good morning, sweet pea. You didn’t wake me up for dinner last night, what happened?”

Rosie mumbled into his shoulder, “You were tired, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

John placed her in her chair, punctuated by a kiss on the forehead, “Nonsense, I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around. Alright?” 

Rosie nodded and dug into her food.

~

Days later, as John checked the mail, he came across another letter from David’s attorney. Since it had been found that David was the biological father, he was ready to bring the matter of Rosie’s custody to court. John laughed to himself. David was delusional to think he could win such a case. He’d been married to Mary, Rosie was legally his responsibility.

But the court date had been set, and he would show up, if only to watch David die of embarrassment as he lost.

Despite the cold sweat of doubt that occasionally washed over him, John’s life had dipped back into relative normalcy. He went to work, took Rosie to daycare. Work, eat, sleep, repeat.

Rosie didn’t seem to be very affected on the surface. Whether this was due to a lack of understanding of the situation or that she tried her best to ignore it, John couldn’t tell, and he certainly wouldn’t ask. The less she became involved the better, in his mind.

A short sound from across the house alerted him to a text message. Wandering over to retrieve his phone revealed a text from Sherlock.

Two heads. No bodies. No blood. 221B. -SH

John smiled. No. Things wouldn’t be changing. This was all just another bump in the road, hardly of any consequence.

John sent a quick text to Molly asking her to pick up and take care of Rosie for the night. Molly wouldn’t be happy, but she knew the drill. As soon as his shift was over, he made his way to the apartment.

~

A good chase was exactly what he needed. The adrenaline passing through his body eased his nerves. It’s just unfortunate that once again, Sherlock’s antics got him in some trouble with the local authorities. The better part of a night in a cell hardly pleased him.

But otherwise, spending time with Sherlock in their element brought a semblance of balance back to his life, as though things were slowly but surely going back to what they had.

That morning, he dropped by Molly’s apartment, and after receiving an earful about her not being a nanny for him - including that he owed her a great deal when she could think up something equivalent - he took Rosie home.

John tried his best not to dribble snot all over himself as Rosie waved her arms around, spreading a cloud of Molly’s cats’ hair throughout the car. She spoke animatedly about said cats, and how Molly had promised to knit her a scarf when she found the time.

John did his part to nod and add input here and there, careful to steer clear of telling her the details about the night he had with Sherlock. She’d find out about their ventures at some point in her life, but until then, John rather appreciated that he was the only one telling these stories to her.

Pulling up to their home, Rosie got out and bolted to her room. John came in at a more subdued pace, the muscles in his legs still sore from last night’s run. He pulled out his laptop, getting to work on typing up this recent case. It was rare that the blog received updates. He had meant to quit entirely, but after so long and with so little else to do, it brought him great comfort to continue it. 

Checking through the site’s notifications, he found that he’d received many new comments on older posts. Much to his dismay, they were mostly by David, commenting on the dangers of his lifestyle and chastising him for living so when he had a child to care for.

John rolled his eyes. Obviously he was getting more desperate. He shut off his laptop, now turned off of the idea of sharing about this most recent case. 

Once more, the flood of worries overtook him. Yes, his dangerous lifestyle involving Sherlock had been a worry to him, especially when it was well known how vulnerable Sherlock was when it came to the people he cared about. This had been used against him at many points over the years, John being one of the simplest targets in these schemes.

It was honestly a wonder how Rosie had not been targeted yet. As many things in John’s life, this was a fact that he did his best to ignore. Of course, that plan was out the window, as this could very well contribute to his losing custody over his child.

For now, maybe it was best that he take an active effort in staying away from Sherlock, at least until this court case was over with. More ammo against him was the last thing that he needed.

As if being tested by the gods, in the weeks following John’s decision, Sherlock had become far more interested in bothering him than he had in the previous year.

‘I swear, that insufferable shit reads my thoughts sometimes…’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the first ten chapters finished and hope to continue putting out one each Friday until this is done! Thanks so much for reading my incredibly self indulgent fic, I promise that the introduction is almost wrapped up and we'll move forward soon!

John paced the corridors of the courthouse, the exertion and rhythmic tapping of his strides providing him with a necessary distraction from the matter at hand. 

He checked his phone constantly, begging for a text from Sherlock. What felt like a barrage of messages over the last few weeks had died to a trickle, leaving John alone to himself in his moment of need.

Today the decision would be made: whether or not John would retain custody of Rosie. For months he had told himself it would end in his favor, but his gut feeling never quite went away. He always assumed the worst these days. After four and a half decades worth of disappointment, it felt silly to expect better from his life now. Checking his phone again became a reminder that it was especially silly to expect better after being acquainted with Sherlock.

Rosie was currently in the courthouse’s daycare, likely with a bunch of other children trapped in the middle of custody battles. John’s hands came up to rub away the shame and anxiety from his face. His poor girl didn’t deserve this.

He checked his watch and found that the proceedings would begin in the next handful of minutes. 

John stared at the unchanging screen, instead focused on the background photo of Rosie on her recent birthday, sitting alone at their table, but still happy as can be with a smear of frosting across her face. This steeled him, at least enough to step into the room.

Heads turned as he entered, but even so, he did not allow this to bother him, or at least let it show on his face that it did. He had to do this, no matter what. He was going to win.

-

Hours passed, but it seemed like it would never end. The only saving grace of the day was the tone in the judge’s voice that conveyed how bored he was with the case, it being an obvious waste of time since John possessed all legal rights to raising Rosie. This served to ease John’s nerve, but also to allow him to drop his guard.

“Your honor, John Watson leads a dangerous lifestyle,” David revealed to the room.

The look of contentment instantly dropped from John’s face. 

“And your proof for this is?” the judge retorted. 

“C’mon, aren’t we all familiar with him and Sherlock Holmes!? They constantly throw themselves into harm's way, all across the country! That is nothing to raise a child around!”

A murmur spread around the room. Bringing up Sherlock was a low blow. As much as he did for this country, opinions were still quite mixed, as many still chose to believe he was behind a large portion of England’s crime, whether it made sense or not. The seed of conspiracy had been planted long ago and would not easily be shaken.

The judge beat the gavel to reign in any commentary, clearing his throat before continuing, “You may find that testimonials will not help you in this case.”

John let out a shaky breath, but held once more when David chimed in again, “He has criminal charges! He’s mentioned being arrested several times!”

John bit his lip. It wouldn’t serve him to speak up now, but in his head he knew that Mycroft would have certainly cleared his charges as they came, wiping his records. 

A break was called so that the judge could attempt to dig up files relating to John’s criminal charges. ‘Good luck,’ he thought to himself.

On his free half-hour, John found that Sherlock had finally texted him.

Where are you - SH

John rolled his eyes. Of course he would forget what date and time he’d be doing this. That was just like Sherlock to do to him.

Courthouse - JW

The reply came immediately.

Why - SH

This left John utterly perplexed, and almost a little worried. Sherlock kept tabs on every miniscule detail of his life, why would he not know what was going on? But also, was he not helping him currently?

The moment they all filed back into the courtroom, John had to suppress a panic attack. Was he actually doing this alone? Has Mycroft ever wiped his files? Settling back into his seat, he dug his nails firmly into his leg in hopes of keeping himself under control.

“Order! I believe we’ve found all the relevant documents to David’s claim…”

John watched as the judge leafed through several papers and began to read out the charges he’d accumulated thanks to his proximity to Sherlock. His anxiety deafened him, so instead of listening as the judge read his charges aloud, his mind supplied the memory of every instance in which they’d outrun local police, been caught trespassing, and been arrested for whatever possession Sherlock planted on him before his own escape. Now more than ever, things looked bleak for John.

As the judge finished reading from the list, the ringing in John’s ears subsided. “None of these convictions involve those relating to child abuse,” the justice paused, giving John hope before dashing it out. “But due to the frequency of repeated offenses, I must take these into consideration.”

John grimaced, and the pit in his stomach worsened. As court dragged on, he begged for it to end, as he knew it wouldn’t end entirely in his favor anyway. 

What felt like an eternity later, the judge came to a conclusion.

David was granted full custody. John’s only consolation was that he had full visitation rights.

John watched numbly as David’s friends and family congratulated him on his victory in the battle. As they filed out, all John could do was stare off into space, the weight of the decision not having fully hit him yet. 

Eventually, someone came in to hand him papers regarding the court decision, including procedures and guidelines for having Rosie moved out. He had just a few days before she would be David’s completely. 

He staggered his way out of the courthouse, the decision finally catching up to him. A sharp pain went up his leg, throwing his already weak legs out from under him, sending him to the ground. He managed to back himself against a column supporting the courthouse, resting his spine against it and pointing his face upward to ease the nausea. 

John only had Rosie for three more days. He could only imagine how it would be the three most agonizing days of his life. How could he be strong through this? How would he explain this all to her? He cursed himself for handling this all so poorly, to think he actually had a chance in winning this. To think that anyone, or anything was on his side. 

From his crouched position at the base of a column, John sobbed. The typical walls he built to protect himself, to not let his feelings show to anyone, crumbled to dust. Sharply dressed, stone faced people passed by him as his lungs struggled to fill with air. 

He’d failed so utterly, had failed his daughter so utterly. What was left of his heart shattered.

John opened his eyes slightly, startled by the figure standing right over him. He choked on the sobs racking his body, his hand firmly clasped over his mouth so he wouldn’t scream or whimper.

He furrowed his brow and looked up into the figure’s face. 

Sherlock stood above him, his face betraying nothing, his hands in his pockets as he stared down at John. Anger began to bubble in John’s stomach the longer he was watched, the tears soon subsiding, the anguish in his heart becoming replaced with frustration. 

His voice wavered, still touched by sorrow, “What the hell do you want now?”

Sherlock looked away, trying to find the words he wished to say. Before he could find them, John steadied himself back to his feet. He wiped away his tears and sniffed to clear his sinuses.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go get my d-daughter.”

John limped his way to the court’s daycare center, dreading how he would handle the next few days. Upon seeing him, a caretaker ran off to retrieve Rosie. 

Rosie ran straight to him, jumping and reaching her arms up to him. John smiled to the best of his ability, bending down to pick her up in his arms. He shivered, thinking about how these would be some of the last moments he had with Rosie as her father.

He walked out, ignoring the fact that Sherlock stood waiting for him and continued to ignore him as he followed them to the car. He strapped Rosie into her carseat and shut the door before turning to Sherlock.

“I lost her, Sherlock. I lost.”

Nothing in Sherlock’s demeanor changed. No acknowledgement was offered, so John got into his car and drove him and Rosie back home.

John came to the decision on their drive back that he would wait until tomorrow to fill Rosie in on what was about to happen. As it was now, she chattered happily about the kids she had played with all day, the toys provided by the daycare, the daycare workers that were nice to her. He couldn’t stand to pop this bubble. It was likely the last of her unbridled joy he’d witness. There was no telling how such a monumental change to her life would affect her. It tore him to think about.

John heated up some leftovers from the fridge. He and Rosie ate in relative silence, but the second Rosie finished, she stared at John expectantly. John appreciated how unsubtle she was when she wanted something, but the fear of what she may ask kept him from inquiring about it until he finished his own plate.

“I’m sorry, did you want something, sweetie?”

“Daddy, can we play when you’re done?” John smirked at the gigantic forced grin and puppy dog eyes that spread on her face, showing off the gaps where her baby teeth were starting to fall out. It sent a pang through his chest to think about how much of her life he would now be missing out on.

After a moment he collected himself, “Yes, of course sweetheart, just let me clean up.” Rosie screeched in joy and ran down the hall to her room to pick out what she wanted to play with while John rinsed off their dishes.

When they convened in the living room, John was given Rosie’s favorite toy, a pink stuffed elephant that she had named - such as reflects the creative ability of a child - Ellie, while Rosie herself held onto several other stuffed animals. John dug his fingers into the soft fluff of the elephant. He could understand why it was her favorite, as it served to calm his own nerves in that moment. He could suddenly recall a few nights where, in the midst of a nightmare, Rosie had crawled into bed beside him and made the elephant “stomp” on the nightmare - well, his chest really - to make it go away.

John played his part as Ellie, making her dance around the other characters Rosie would throw at him, and going as far as to heighten the pitch of his voice for the role. John cherished his time with Rosie. He paid deep attention to the narrative she created: one of friendship and love and...explosions. He hadn’t interacted with many other kids outside Rosie in the past decade, but as far as he could tell, this was normal.

He continued to play along until Rosie ran out of ideas and wore herself out. John picked her up and took her to her bed. Before tucking her in for the night he went back to the living room to retrieve her toys and gently placed them around her. John gave her a kiss on the head and wished her a good night before shutting her door gently.

It burned him now to be away from her, even for a few seconds. These were his final hours as a dad, and it felt like he was wasting it if he were not at his pinnacle of fathering for every waking second. So he went to bed.

Despite the day’s stress, he could not fall asleep, and he did not sleep a single wink. He lied in wake all night, terrified of the rising sun. Of the idea of having to tell his daughter that she was...no longer his daughter…

But even as the sun began to peak through his bedroom window, he willed himself to ignore it, to convince himself that time would stand still - if only because he refused to leave the comfort and safety of his overly expansive bed. 

No, he would put on a brave face. He rose dizzily from his position, uselessly rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. He stepped into the adjoining bathroom, staring back into the sorry state of himself. How he would find a way to convince Rosie that things would be alright...he had no idea.

A quick shower and change of clothes lifted him somewhat, at least enough to conceive of facing Rosie this morning. John stepped into the kitchen to find a mess of sleep-matted blonde hair scaling the counters to reach a cereal bowl.

"And what do you think you're doing?" John asked good naturedly. His sudden entrance startled Rosie, but as she turned to look at her dad, John had wrapped his arms around her, picking her up from the counter and swinging her into her seat at the table.

John felt bad that he'd been sulking in his room long enough for her to grow desperate for breakfast, but put aside the urge to beat himself up over it in favor of righting the wrong.

Before he could pour milk into a bowl of cereal, the doorbell rang. He quickly dropped the task to answer the door, much to Rosie’s dismay. 

“Hel-” he began, only to come face to face with David. His brows knit together in fury, and his voice grew tight, but soft so that Rosie would not overhear. “I have her for three more days. What the hell could you possibly want?”

“I’d like for my kid to be comfortable with me before she’s moved in with me, thank you very much.”

John glared deep into his eyes, but quickly ignored David’s presence at the short yelp coming from the kitchen. He spun around to check on Rosie, finding her on the ground covered in cereal pieces. She popped some into her mouth as she smiled up at John. 

John gave her a small chuckle before lifting her back to her seat. The look she threw over his shoulder sent John whirling around to find David had made his way into the kitchen’s entryway and was leaned up against the wall.

“Daddy, why is he here…?” Rosie shifted in her seat.

Before John could find his words, David chimed in, “I’m sorry sweetie, I need to have a quick chat with him.” David’s eyes darted to John’s. He looked thoroughly unimpressed as he made his way into the next room. John collected himself enough to clean Rosie’s mess and provide her breakfast, anything to inconvenience David for coming at such a terrible time.

Eventually, John stepped out into the living room to see David sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. As John entered, David’s head shot up and he stood.

“You haven’t told her yet?” he demanded in a whisper.

“Of course I’ve not told her, I don’t want to make her fucking panic!” John replied, voice low.

“Right, yeah, because having just a couple of days to figure out that she’s been with the wrong family and that her entire living situation is about to drastically change isn’t going to cause her to panic!” 

John eyed the hall to make sure Rosie wasn’t listening closely before he encroached on David’s space. They stood for a moment sizing each other up. John stared deep into David’s eyes, finding nothing but determination.

“Why have you fucking done this? She was just fine with me,” John growled through grit teeth. 

“She’s my fucking kid and I’m not willing to ignore that,” David bit back.

John could do nothing but continue his glaring. How fucking dare he ruin their lives? Did he have any idea what this meant to him?

Some time had passed, as Rosie popped her head out from the kitchen and called out, “Daddy,” which brought the attention of both men. She continued, “I’m done…”

“Alright, honey. I’ll take care of it. You go get dressed, okay?”

Rosie nodded and ran to her room as John made his way back into the kitchen. He braced himself on the kitchen counter, willing himself not to lose his composure. He felt he could just break down into tears. He would not, but his will wasn’t enough to keep the tears from burning his eyes.

“John, I wanted to get everything in order. I need to know more about her. Give me that, and then I will give you two the time that you need,” David said to his back.

John sucked air into his lungs. He had to be practical about this. Just because he didn’t like or agree with any of this, it was no excuse for dropping Rosie off with David and leaving her nothing. He swallowed his pride momentarily and pushed himself off the counter to retrieve her documents, birth certificate, vaccinations, daycare paperwork, etc.

When he came back to the kitchen, he found David and Rosie sitting across from each other. Rosie entertained their guest with a smattering of papers and crayons. She scribbled in wide arcs and ran her mouth in her typical stream of conscious way. John noticed the small smile plastered on David’s face as well as the ease with which Rosie shared her supplies.

John smacked the pile of papers down on the counter. “Here’s everything you should need. Anything else?”

David gave him a look, then turned to Rosie and asked, “Would you mind if I spent some time with you today, honey?”

Rosie shook her head ‘no,’ but at the stormy look she noticed John leveraging against David, she let out a stutter, waiting for John to give the final say. John caught this and he frowned. So much for the day he had planned for them.

John sighed, “Yes, that’s fine.”

Rosie flashed David a shy, but excited smile, and David returned the look. John felt sick. He sat at the table across from David, picking up a crayon and running the tips of his fingers over the fraying paper it was wrapped in. 

“So, Rosie, what’s your favorite color?” 

John sat and listened to the series of questions David asked Rosie, forming the answers to her favorite animal, food, etc in his head. Maybe he didn’t get them all correct, but he got a fair amount of them. They talked and talked, John distracting himself by drawing circles into a piece of paper.

Rosie jumped up and asked David to follow her to her bedroom. When John noticed their departure, he quickly stood to follow. 

She flopped onto the floor of her room to grab various toys and knick-knacks, excitedly telling David all about every single one as he nodded, smiled, and played along. It became increasingly frustrating to John just how easily David interacted with her, how easily he learned her quirks and interests, something John himself still felt hopelessly lost about at times.

John worried that maybe he hadn’t given Rosie the attention she needed. He knew her to be in the toddler stage where she could go on and on and on, but the more she spoke, the more John learned about her. Yes, he could admit to spacing out during her long, one-sided conversations. For a moment, he wondered how much of her life he had already missed out on due to his inattentiveness.

A decent chunk of time passed in this fashion, John realizing that this enthusiastic display had run on past lunch and nearly into dinner time. Knowing there was no true purpose for his presence, John left the doorway to check for something to cook. The pantry had a few canned vegetables and the fridge was bare. ‘Takeout it is,’ John thought to himself.

As he leafed through takeout menus, Rosie and their guest settled back into their seats at the table. “Daddy, I’m hungry, what’s for food?”

“I’m thinking about takeout. What would you like, sweetie?” 

“Uhhhhhhhh-”

David cut in, directed at Rosie, “How often do you eat takeout?”

Rosie giggled, “A few times a week, daddy’s not a very good cook!”

John felt both incredibly patronized by David’s tone and a little hurt at Rosie’s comment. He tried his best! Whether he cooked or ordered in, Rosie was always fed, and that’s what mattered!

John stepped out to the living room to order their food, doing his best to ignore his wounded pride, though once the call ended and he was forced to face the reality of his situation, he found that the hurt only grew. Had he been letting Rosie down in ways he hadn’t even considered? Maybe David would do a much better job than he ever could, and that thought alone nearly sent him spiraling. 

He remained distant throughout their meal, his thoughts crushing, pulling him further and further from the present. All of John’s focus was set on his past mistakes and the truly terrifying future he was unprepared to experience and refused to give any deeper thought toward.

His silence went unmentioned by the two across from him, busy getting to know each other, enjoying their meal and togetherness to a degree that - John felt - he’d never experienced himself. Was it true that Rosie’s rounded cheeks glew a little brighter, her eyes more full of light and life in conversing with David than they had with John, or had he never paid her the attention to tell if there was a difference? 

Was it a terror that John would very soon be all alone, or was it a blessing that Rosie would find happiness in a more stable family?

John methodically washed their dishes as David and Rosie interacted in the living room. He had lost. He had lost in such a multitude of ways, it was overwhelming, but he was so tired. There was no remedying this ache. He had his chances, each one passing him by, and he had never even noticed.

He found himself half-asleep sat on the couch when Rosie began to show the signs that the visit was over. Her head wobbled and she yawned constantly. 

“Looks like it’s bedtime, darling,” David whispered. John stood to help her to bed. He reached his hand down to her, Rosie grabbing tight and lifting herself from the ground. When she was about to let go, John held just a little tighter. Getting the hint, Rosie gripped back as they made their way down the hall.

David watched from the hall as John tucked her in, leaving a kiss on her forehead and smoothing her hair out of her eyes, then placing her favorite stuffed elephant next to her. They whispered a gentle goodnight to each other before John left the room, closing the door behind him. 

John and David headed to the front door. The day was over, entirely co-opted by David’s visit. John only had so much time left with Rosie, and he’d come in, only to show off just how much more equipped he was to father Rosie than John was. He resented him for it.

David, unsure of his welcome now that Rosie was asleep, made to leave. “So...I better uh...step out before the missus comes home, huh?” 

This was the final straw for John. He’d maintained control of his emotions to the best of his ability all day, but the careless assumption that there was anyone else present in his life tore down the final wall. 

David stepped back at the pained expression that flashed across John’s face. “You..you did marry after...she passed on right? I just thought...because of that ring, you…”

John grit his teeth, his jaw tightening. He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the ring he wore, symbolizing his marriage to Mary, his shame in pursuing something with someone else when she was still alive, branding her ownership of him even in her death. 

The reminder of more failure wracked a sob from his body, his hand flew up to pinch the bridge of his nose to hide the grief he felt. His life really was a pile of failures.

“Why...” he choked out, “Why did you have to do this? How could you take her from me? She’s all the family I have left...”

David looked at him sympathetically. “She’s my daughter, John.”

Before John could cut in with a scathing reply, David continued.

“I tried to ignore it, but the last I...met up with Mary and the date she gave birth lined up. I’ve let on this long, because I thought I could live with myself knowing I had a child I wouldn’t be seeing. But I just couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t convince myself anymore that she wasn’t mine. I look at her, and I just know that she’s mine and I have to own up and be there for her. She’s my daughter and I have to take care of her, John. I know you understand that much.”

John sniffed angrily, willing the tears in his eyes not to spill over.

“I love her, John. I love her so much that it hurts. She’s my flesh and blood.”

John couldn’t reply. If he tried, it would all be let loose.

David, seeing that John would not be responding any time soon, stepped out the door. “I’m sorry, John. Take care.”


	4. Chapter 4

After yesterday’s visit, John was thrown off entirely. Not that he really had a full schedule for his final days with Rosie, but because he only now realized how much more he would have to do in the two days they had left. Their final day would be reserved for packing up her room, but the certain crunch of today filled John with such an anxiety that he couldn’t fathom where to start.

As much as he would prefer to stay in bed and ruminate on his negligence, he stood up, fearing the idea that he would repeat the prior morning. It was early morning, but even so, if he had decided to go back to bed, there’s no telling when he would wake up again. He busied himself with a cup of tea, turned on the television, and caught up on the messages he’d received - and ignored - the day before. 

He cradled his phone in his hands as he stared blankly at his notifications, uninterested in replying to any of them, and deciding to clear them all. He leaned back into the sofa, unable to pay attention to the chattering on tv.

He had to let Rosie know today. He kicked himself for not telling her sooner. David was right. In many ways David was right and he hated it. Had he always been this neglectful? He thought that he’d done his best, but maybe he could have done more for her…

John’s thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched tone, which as he turned his head toward the hall he found to be Rosie. John’s heart constricted. She had no idea what was coming to her, that she would no longer live here after tomorrow. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie, did I wake you up?” John asked as he noticed the time.

“Daddy, I’m always up early…” she replied as she rubbed both of her eyes. This came as no comfort to John. Why was she always up early? And why had he never noticed this before?

“Oh...well, are you hungry?” John asked, to which Rosie nodded emphatically. “How about we go out for breakfast?”

Rosie let out a cheerful cry and ran back to her room to get dressed. John couldn’t help but smile, then stood to get himself ready. 

~

The constant clink and chatter of the diner quickly got on John’s nerves. His irritable disposition worsened under these conditions.

John watched as Rosie tore into her chocolate chip pancakes. He picked at his eggs and toast, wondering if now was the moment to tell her. Every second he wasted gave her less and less time to adjust to the knowledge. 

He began, “So, did you enjoy David’s visit yesterday?” John nearly scrambled his sunny side up eggs as he waited for her response.

Rosie nodded. “Yeah he’s nice!” she said around a mouthful of pancakes. 

John flashed her a quick smile and resumed eating. He could feel the waitstaff glaring at his destroyed plate of breakfast, and he made sure to wipe up the yolk that now coated the entire plate. The next moment he pulled his head up to see that it was not the waitstaff he felt staring at him.

“Sherlock!” Rosie screeched and waved her hands.

‘Of all the goddamn times…’ John thought to himself. “What are you doing here?”

Sherlock knelt down beside Rosie, tapping her nose as he greeted, “Hello, little one!” He then turned mechanically to face John, the sweet look falling off of his face. “I texted you several times. I even called. You know I don’t call!”

John wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, but he could tell Sherlock wouldn’t be going away any time soon. “I was busy yesterday. David came over for a visit.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John huffed out a sigh, “You know, when I went to court a few days ago?” As the confused look continued, John shook his head and gave up. He didn’t understand how he could so frequently forget how far Sherlock’s scope of knowledge extended. Obviously the details of John’s life didn’t factor in.

“What do you want, Sherlock?”

Sherlock straightened. “Those heads we investigated. Turns out there’s been a similar case reported on the other side of the country. Lestrade thinks they’re related, the dullard. But we’re going to check things out. Tonight.”

The vein in John’s forehead pulsed at the assumption he’d be going along on such short notice. He was in no place to be volunteered into his antics. “No, Sherlock. WE. Are not going anywhere tonight.”

Rosie giggled. “Do I get to go to Molly’s? She said she was making me a scarf!”

John’s breathing became erratic. “No, honey. We’re staying home tonight.” John looked up into Sherlock’s eyes as he said, “We have things we have to discuss tonight. Put this off for another time.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you just talk now, so we can be on with it?”

John tightened his jaw. Did Sherlock not know what he needed to discuss, or was he being intentionally hostile toward him?

“Tell me, tell me!” Rosie asked excitedly. The tone of her voice cut through John’s anger in an instant. He couldn’t do this right here, right now. 

“Finish your breakfast, then we’ll go home and we’ll talk about it, okay sweetheart?”

Rosie nodded, taking a few more large bites before exclaiming she was done, half of her plate left behind.

John nodded, and unfortunately, Sherlock followed them into the car. It was an ill thought sentiment, but John was comforted by the idea that having Sherlock there would help the ensuing conversation go a little smoother - at the very least for its aftermath.

As they arrived at John’s home, Sherlock helped Rosie out of her seat, and the two made their way in. John faked the need to fiddle with something in his car as they went, just so he could take a minute to gather how he would deliver the news to her. This would be one of the most difficult things he’d have to do in his life, save for moving the girl out tomorrow. 

John braced himself as he made his way inside. Sherlock sat on the floor in the living room as Rosie pretended to fight him, Sherlock easily grabbing onto her little fists and twirling her around gently. For a moment, John allowed himself to imagine this was his life, utterly domestic, to imagine that he had a partner and that they helped him keep Rosie happy. The reality was soul crushing.

He stepped inside, garnering their attention. He shut the door behind him, taking a few breaths to ready himself. John walked toward Rosie, kneeling on the ground so that he was eye-level with her. She stopped in her tracks to look him in the eye. John felt his throat tighten. He reached out, resting his hands gently on Rosie’s arms.

“Honey, do you remember about a month ago, when we went to visit the doctor’s?” Sherlock straightened beside them, but John didn’t care to focus on him. He had to get this out before he could reason with himself to back out, or worse, break down into tears in front of the poor girl.

Rosie nodded her head.

John cleared his throat and continued, “Do you remember what David told you then? That he thought that...he could be your dad?”

Rosie stared at him blankly, but nodded.

John’s eyes snapped to the ground. All he had to do was to get the words out. He had to tell her. He had to. 

When he lifted his head, he saw Rosie’s face contorting into a pained expression, her eyes glassy and red, full of tears. The expression reflected instantly in John’s face, but he pushed forward.

“Rosie, I’m not your daddy. He is.”

She sniffed and brought her balled fists to her eyes. “Honey, please, know that I love you so much, I always have and I always will, I-” John stopped mid sentence as the girl stepped out of his hold and wailed as she ran down the hall to her room and shut the door. He exhaled, now feeling well and truly empty.

John turned to face Sherlock, who seemed ultimately nonplussed about this revelation. John’s grief quickly turned to anger. He knew, didn’t he? He knew and he never told him. Why did he always-

“John.”

He tried to reign in his emotions. He found himself failing at this task more and more frequently these days. There was just no helping him.

John was brought back to the present by a large hand stroking his arm. The only consolation to counter his decrease in self control was that Sherlock tried harder to be personable. His comfort - though a small gesture for anyone else - had an enormous impact on John. It steadied him, when all he wanted to do was crumble.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stood, Sherlock following suit. His instinct was to go and comfort Rosie, but maybe she wanted a moment alone. John stayed in place, until his friend gave him a nudge and nodded his head toward the hall. No, he was right. He had to see this through all the way.

John came to Rosie’s door, tapping his knuckles against it a few times. “Rosie, may I come in?” He heard nothing but a soft cry, muffled by pillows and blankets. It wasn’t a no, so John pushed the door open. He saw Rosie curled up on her bed, her face buried and her arms wrapped around her favorite stuffed animal. The beady eyes of the soft, pink elephant looked up at John, as though pleading for help.

He stepped in, coming to settle next to her on the bed. She buried her face in her toy further. John leaned in and threw his arms fully around her, bringing her closer to rest against him. She hiccuped as he stroked her messy, blonde hair.

He whispered against her head, “Rosie...honey, it’ll be okay…”

She snorted and huffed as she lifted her head. She tried to speak, but the words quickly became lost in a bawl. The cries tore at John’s heart. As little as he had to say to help her through it, as useless as he felt in this situation, he stayed. 

“You’re my daddy…” she managed to choke out. John winced. 

“And you’ll always be my daughter...but Rosie, David is your real father. And soon you’ll be living with him, and he’ll take good care of you…” John didn’t fully believe that last statement himself, but he said it as a means of easing both of their fears.

Rosie shook her head violently. “NO! I live here with you!” she screeched.

John scrunched his eyes closed tight, so as not to let the tears flow. He reassured her, “You’ll live with David. You said it yourself that he’s a nice man. But honey, I’ll come and visit you as frequently as I can, okay? Think of it like when you go to daycare, or spend the night with Molly!”

Rosie rested her chin on her stuffed animal, her blue, red-rimmed eyes staring straight up at John. He couldn’t interpret the look she was giving him, she plainly looked miserable. John wished he could take all of her pain away, and told himself that it was his own fault that she was now experiencing this pain. He sucked down a sob, pulling his face away from his daughter to stifle a whimper into his free hand. 

In the next second, John found the plush elephant being shoved into his arms and a pair of small arms wrapping around his neck. One hand dug into the soft fur, the other coming to clutch at the small form pressing against him. 

He embraced her as tightly as she could handle, her arms similarly holding tight enough to make breathing a bit more difficult. Taking his hand from the toy between them, John rubbed his hand into Rosie’s back.

“It’ll be okay, honey, we’ll both be okay.”

After a time, both of their breathing steadied. John pulled away, seeing the signs of a sleepy little girl. “Do you need a nap?” he asked. The look she gave told him that despite how exhausted she was, she didn’t want John to leave. “I think we could both use one right now.”

Rosie got the hint, nodding and lying down across her pillow. It wasn’t a lie, they both could use a nap, but John did not plan on taking one. He only needed a moment to recollect himself. He pet her head and told her to sleep well.

Re-entering the living room, he was surprised to see that Sherlock remained where he had been. He furiously tapped about on his phone, those striking eyes never lifting to acknowledge John’s return. It didn’t bother him. John made himself a cup of tea, then sat on the couch to stew in his thoughts.

The hours of the day dwindled. Another day was passing. John leaned his head back. He had one more day with Rosie. A day that promised to be harder than today. She didn’t have very much in her room, so it would be easy to pack up. The hard part would be to tell her goodbye. 

His heart faltered. No, it wouldn’t truly be goodbye, but it would be close to it. It would be a full admission of defeat. John would be alone, his family gone. 

His brow furrowed. It didn’t feel real. None of it. How could things have gone so poorly?

Sherlock stood abruptly. He finally noticed John and turned to him, “I must work on this case tonight. I’m leaving.”

John nodded, shifting his gaze to his mug. It startled him when Sherlock reached out and grabbed his shoulder gently. They locked eyes for a brief period. Sherlock’s eyes softened as he asked, “You will be alright?”

“Yes,” he replied. He had to be.

And with that, Sherlock left. The click of the front door shutting punctuated the low buzz of the electricity running through his home. Quiet. Monotonous. It would be the sound he heard most often when Rosie no longer lived here.

He couldn’t stand to sit there in it. He got up, willing himself to go out and get groceries. He recalled Rosie talking about her favorite food yesterday, and though she had also said he wasn’t a good cook, he was determined to make her favorite for their final dinner together.

Tomorrow wouldn’t go well, but he would do his best.

~

The day John dreaded had finally come. He was crouched on the floor of Rosie’s soon-to-be old room when he caught himself drifting off. It was difficult for him to connect with the fact that this was all happening, his mind constantly shutting down on him to protect him from the event.

He took a deep breath, blinked rapidly, rubbed his face, and focused on the air filling his lungs to bring himself back to the present task. John opened another drawer, pulling out a small pink shirt and folding it, then setting it into a box.

Across the room, Rosie dug to the bottom of her toy chest, playing with whatever toy or trinket she had not seen in months. John didn’t have the heart to set her back to packing each time she did this. Yes, David was expecting they’d be finished at a certain time, but these moments belonged to John, and to Rosie if she would remember them. This would be the last day that they were strictly family and he would not trade these moments for the world.

They had the majority of the room packed, the boxes laying in the hall. Rosie, only being four years old, hadn’t accumulated a lot of stuff. Of course, John was weak when it came to her, and any toys she asked for, she got. For a child, she didn’t ask for very much, and on one hand, John was grateful for this, but on the other, she behaved frugally in a way children often weren’t. They certainly didn’t have to live that way, John was well off and had never let on that money would be an issue, but Rosie seemed to take on an amount of responsibility that wasn’t common for her age. 

Before he knew it, another drawer of clothes had been folded and boxed up. John moved to pull out another drawer when a weight dropped right next to him. Rosie rested her head against his arm and grabbed his hand with both of hers.

John squeezed her hands, his free one coming up to rest on her head. He leaned down and asked, “Are you alright?” Rosie nodded her little head, but John could see clearly from her face that she was doing her best to bury her sorrow. He smacked a kiss into her hair. “It’s going to be okay. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it there.”

Rosie stood up and returned to packing her toys. John knew he didn’t fix the issue, but he reasoned that this wasn’t an issue he could fix here and now.

It was only noon when everything was ready to be moved. It was likely to all fit in David’s car, so there would be no extra trips. 

John stood in Rosie’s empty room. When he first bought the place, it was huge. It was honestly more than he had ever thought he’d get use out of. Even when Mary came along, it was large for just the two of them. It wasn’t until he learned of Mary’s pregnancy that the place felt just right, the spare room would be put to use. He had secretly loved decorating the nursery, moving the crib out and putting together a real bed, and decorating to Rosie’s growing tastes.

Now, the bed was bare, and so too were the walls, the closet, and the drawers. It was gutting to witness. John stepped out, shutting off the light, and closing the door.

Rosie ate her lunch at the kitchen table while John moved boxes from the hall next to the front door. He peered out the window to see David had already rolled up in his car, a little earlier than they had expected him. John quietly stepped outside as not to disturb Rosie.

As John walked out to greet David, he noticed a second car driving up. 

“Hello, John. I hope you don’t mind we came early,” David said coolly. 

“We?” John questioned. He turned again to see a woman stepping out from the second car. She had curly, dark brown hair and was fairly attractive, but what stood out most to John was the extension of her stomach, clearly a baby bump. 

“Yeah, my wife wanted to meet Rosie before we moved her in. She wants to make sure she’ll be comfortable staying with us.”

The woman locked her car before heading toward John, extending a hand and introducing herself, “You must be John! I’m Victoria, pleased to meet you. Would you mind if I sat with Rosie while you two pile the cars up?”

John snapped himself out of his trance, nodded, and led her to his kitchen. “Rosie, this is Victoria. She’s going to be your mommy!”

Rosie, who had been attentive the moment they walked in now turned her face away. John was baffled, she was always incredibly sociable. Why she would shy away now was beyond him. 

“Hello Rosie! It’s so nice to meet you!” Victoria said as she sat beside Rosie. 

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” John said as he picked up a box and walked out the front.

It brought John a little bit of comfort to know that it wasn’t just David taking over his parenting, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the pregnant woman. They were already bringing in a kid, was Rosie going to get the attention she needed?

John set the box of clothes down next to the car when David shot him a look.

“John, I want you to know why I really did this. I didn’t lie about my reasoning the last time we met, but it wasn’t the full thing. You see, my lady is expecting…” he sighed and scratched his head before continuing, “...Look, this would have come out at one point or another - that Rosie is mine - and I just...I have a daughter on the way. It’s made me see that I can’t just pretend Rosie isn’t mine. They both mean a lot to me. I didn’t want for Rosie to figure out that I was her dad, and to see that I gave her up, but kept her younger sister. I don’t want her to think I didn’t want her. I need to-”

“I get it,” John cut off. He followed the reasoning, though he didn’t really accept it. He was fine with what he’d presented two days ago. It didn’t matter why anymore. It was happening, and no amount of good points would help John or Rosie to accept this huge change. “Let’s just get this in shall we?”

About half an hour and a lot of grumbling over how to best pack all of Rosie’s things into the one car later, the task was done. Both men walked through the entrance to find a despondent looking Rosie, half of her plate unfinished, sitting next to Victoria, her pleasant smile now strained.

“Is everything alright in here?” David asked. 

Victoria pursed her lips at him, but turned back to smile at Rosie. “We’re quite alright. Just a bit worried about adjusting to all this.”

John took up a chair next to Rosie, who refused to look up. He rubbed circles into her back, waiting for any sort of acknowledgement. 

David cleared his throat, “Well, the car is packed and we’re ready to go so we can get you moved in.”

Rosie huffed a sigh. 

“Would you mind giving us a minute?” John asked as pleasantly as he could manage. David nodded, helping Victoria to her feet and out the door.

The second the door shut, Rosie was on her feet, running to the living room. She pulled something out from behind the couch and handed it to John. He recognized it as Ellie, her pink elephant. 

“Keep her,” she demanded.

John shook his head, “Rosie, she’s your favorite. You should hold on to her.”

“No! She keeps you safe when you have bad dreams! You have to keep her!”

The heartache John had felt those last few days increased exponentially in that moment. Even when he had failed her so, she still agonized over making sure he was okay. It wasn’t fair. John didn’t deserve her. 

All John could respond with was a nod as he hugged the stuffed elephant closer to him. He set it on the table and looked to Rosie, “Are you ready?”

She nodded to the floor. John took her hand and guided her outside. David and Victoria argued over the fact that they’d brought two cars and didn’t have to pack the way they did. John made note of how gentle the disagreement was. Him and Sherlock had frequent, explosive arguments, which he’d hoped were out of Rosie’s hearing range, but he’d surely fucked that up at points. He could see how well these two actually got on and communicated.

‘Rosie will be alright. She’ll adjust in time. Everything will work out for her. ‘

John’s hand began to shake and a sharp pain ran down his leg. He grunted, bringing the couple’s attention back to the matter at hand. Victoria strapped Rosie’s car seat into her own vehicle while David crouched down in front of Rosie.

“Ready to go, princess?” 

Rosie looked up at John one more time. He forced a smile to his face. She nodded and followed David to the car, letting go of John’s hand. The trembling worsened without her grip, so John shoved his hand into his pocket. He watched as Rosie was secured into Victoria’s car and all the doors shut.

Rosie tearfully popped her head and arms out of the window, shouting out as the car took off, “Bye bye, daddy!”

John waved, holding back his emotions, but utterly failing at the task. His chest heaved as he sucked in air past the gathering mucus in his system, tears flowing freely. The second David started his engine, John rushed himself back inside.

He wailed into his hands, the frustration, grief, and panic he’d been experiencing the last couple of months coming to a climax together. It hurt. It hurt every inch of his being. There was no willing this pain away. The lifeless, stale environment of his house was suffocating, and it had only been a minute. 

The uncontrollable sobs continued. John, when he was able to wrench his eyes open, noticed Ellie still sat on the table. He shuffled forward on his aching leg until he could reach the toy, taking it into his arms and squeezing the life out of it.

Everything coalesced into a storm in John’s mind. He was alone. He had ruined yet another important part of his life that there was no recovering.

Sometimes, it felt like any effort was a waste. 

In John’s life, it was one disastrous end after another.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos <3   
> I'm glad others are finding as much enjoyment in reading this as I do writing it!

Lestrade firmly pounded on the door to his friend's home. He'd not heard from John in days, and neither he nor Sherlock replied to his texts or calls. Sherlock, he understood, especially since he’d put him to a case recently, but John typically leaned toward human politeness most of the time. Greg had been made vaguely aware of John's predicament, and told by his shut-in behavior things had not turned out in his favor. 

The two weren't the closest. Greg certainly would have never claimed them to be, but in the couple years of Sherlock's absence, he had felt a partial responsibility toward John's well-being. He had witnessed John at his lowest several times and tried his best to at least right him back to the typical British male way of ignoring emotional turmoil in favor of going out drinking. As far as he knew, this method was tried and true. Greg convinced himself this had carried John through his depression until he came upon Mary.

His conviction in this would be demolished, as when no answer came, he tried the knob, finding the door to be fully unlocked. Stepping inside, Greg felt a rush of stale, humid air. The curtains had been drawn shut and the place was shrouded in darkness, no light from lamps, screens, nor digital clocks. It felt as though John's home had been abandoned, which would have been Greg's assumption if he'd not distinctly heard a gasp from the kitchen.

He stalked his way through, unsure what he would be coming across. He felt for a light switch, flipping it on, but finding that no light came. Instead he took out his cell phone, bringing the screen to life and waving it about. In a quick flash, Greg saw a body slumped to the floor. Rushing across the room, he drew open the curtains over the sink before taking in the scene before him.

John laid slumped on the floor in his pajamas, shielding his eyes from the sunlight pouring in from the window, a few bottles of wine left entirely empty beside him, along with a couple bottles of hard liquor in progress of being drained. He groaned in pain from what must have been a powerful hangover, or the trepidation of soon having to explain himself.

All Greg could do was stare down at him. He’d picked him up from poor, sorry states before, but there was something heavier in this moment, and it held him back from reaching out. 

Eventually, John’s eyes adjusted and he decided there would be no use in playing possum and rose as far as he could manage, if only to get it over with. His eyes turned up toward the detective, his head failing to follow. His eyelids were heavy, the bags under his eyes dragging his face further down, but he would see this through. Greg had to leave him again at some point.

Moments passed without a single word uttered. The fear gripping his heart forced his gaze to return to the floor. Perhaps this would not resolve itself quickly…

“John…” Greg started, only receiving a grunt in response. “John, get up.”

“Greg, I-” he tried before he was dragged up from the ground by his arm, the sudden, rash movement leaving him further disoriented and frightened. He scrambled to put his feet under him, but after an indiscernible amount of time spent in a dark corner with nothing to sate his body but alcohol, the task was impossible, and he crumpled back to the floor, the pounding in his head returning threefold.

Taking pity on the man before him, Greg kneeled down to secure his arms around John’s torso, heaving him up and into a chair dragged from the dining table. After being more gently dumped into the seat, his body slumped to the table. John’s hands flew to his face to both rub out the pain in his head and hide the tears prickling in his eyes.

Greg took notice of the twitches running throughout John’s body. His profession left him torn. If he were on the clock and if John were a stranger, he’d be calling in reinforcements to look him over, but his duty to his friend made this more difficult. He knew from experience just how little John would appreciate emergency services being called on him. It took weeks to gain back his trust after that, no matter how much John truly needed it. This wasn’t his area of expertise, but he’d give it a go. Greg sighed before easing himself into the next available seat, waiting for John to settle himself before he continued.

“It didn’t turn out well, I take it,” Greg said humorlessly.

John gave him an unimpressed look, though there was little emotion read in the expression other than sadness. He knew that his anger sometimes flipped on a switch and he shouldn’t handle this untactfully, but Greg could tell by his lack of fight that John was truly unwell. 

He really couldn’t blame him. As Greg looked around the empty home, it was a wonder he came across John responsive at all. It was clear he was giving up.

John shook his head lightly and returned his face to his hands. His breathing was deep, but shaky, the effort of taking air into his lungs taking all the energy that was left in his body.

The situation was uncomfortable, to say the least. Not knowing what else to do, Greg stood to grab a glass of water for John. Thankfully the water was still running. He set the glass in front of John, waiting for him to realize it was there instead of demanding he drank it. This wasn’t going to be the sort of thing they could brush off with drinks, as it seemed that plan had already been a failure for John.

He did eventually come back to the world, but for several moments all John could do was stare into the full glass. He may have appeared to be collecting himself, but his mind was blank. There was nothing he could say at this moment. John grabbed the glass and took a few sips before putting it back down. 

The silence left Greg a bit antsy. He wrung his hands on the table and bounced his leg just hoping John would tell him anything at all. 

Finally coming to terms that this was a wasted effort, Greg stood, cleared his throat, and began, “We should...get the lights turned back on.”

John gave another grunt in response, his throat still unprepared for speech. 

Greg’s patience wore thin at John’s continued nonchalance. “John, you’ve got to pick yourself up and keep moving forward.”

“What’s the point,” he replied, his voice groggy, but the fire was there. A small amount of progress, Greg thought.

“I’m not going to be responsible for you just sitting here rotting. Life goes on, now get up!”

John grimaced in anger. “How many times...how many times have I just ‘got back up?’ And for what? To be beaten back down again and again?” John wobbled to his feet, bracing himself on the table, head low. “I’m sick of it, Greg! I’m nearly fifty and I still haven’t got a hold on my life!”

Greg rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but John barked at him, “SHUT UP. I understand that you have been able to recover when your wife left you and took the kids. But you just don’t understand how many times I’ve lost EVERYTHING. How many times I’ve come close to ending it all. How many times I have pulled myself back up and tried to make a life for myself,” he broke to sob, “only to have it fall apart again!”

“You’re still drunk. Look, just get some sleep an-”

“I can’t sleep away being a failure, Greg! How dare you ask me to try again? What have I got, another twenty or thirty years before I die, if that? What makes you think I can make a new life for myself in that time when I’ve been unable to in almost fifty years?”

Greg worked his jaw as he thought of a response. John groaned and hunched forward, quickly stepping down the hall and steadying himself against the wall as he went. He crumbled in front of the toilet, releasing the sparse contents of his stomach. It burned his throat as well as his eyes, causing the tears to flow freely.

As he finished his retching, he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head atop them in his arms. He held nothing back, the tears, the sobs, even his pitiful babbling. All Greg could do was stand watch in the doorway. After a bit, he pulled out his lit cellphone and placed it on the bathroom counter so that he could see before kneeling in front of John.

Greg reached out to rub circles into John’s back. It was more contact than he’d ever given someone he wasn’t explicitly dating, but John was beyond the point of maintaining any amount of pride in himself, so he would make a sacrifice to help him out.

John’s sobs eventually subsided, but he refused to lift his head. Instead he spoke into his knees, “I don’t want to be alone, Greg. I’ve spent so much of my life alone. I can’t do it anymore.”

The detective pulled his hand away and straightened his aching back. “You’re not alone, John. You’ve got me and Sherlock and-”

“I just wanted a family,” John cut off weakly. “I’m too old to have my own children at this point, and I’ve surely dated every woman in Britain by now.”

Greg meant well when he replied with, “You can’t give up just yet. Rosie still needs you. And besides...that’s only half of the available pool…” but John growled at this, his head whipped up quickly to glare at him through tear filled eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell everyone that I’m NOT GAY! I’m not! I’m...not…” John dug his fingers into his hair, tugging as he pulled his limbs in tighter around himself.

“Look, John, we’ll get you back into therapy, I’ll help you find someone, I-”

“The last time I went to see a therapist I was SHOT, if you’ll remember. Please, please, just leave…just leave me alone....”

“I’m not leaving until you’ve at least sorted out your electricity bill and we’ve set you some goals,” Greg insisted.

John stood abruptly, his blood rushing to catch up with the movement. Greg eased his way back to his full height and reached out to grab John’s arm to steady him. He wracked his brain as John made a call. His eyes caught the liquor bottles on the floor, deciding that would be a good enough goal for John. 

As John hung up, Greg informed him, “We need to work on your drinking problem.”

John glared up at him, aghast that he would make further demands of him. “Excuse me, but you are not in charge of me!” 

“I will not hesitate to have you hospitalized again if you can’t make it through a few days without being drunk!” Greg rested his hands on his hips, waiting for John to retort, but none came. He only stared angrily into the wood of his dining table. “That’s what I thought.”

“Alright. Fine. Now please leave.” 

John made his way to his bedroom when Greg called out from the kitchen, “Your gun!”

John kicked his door in, grabbing his handgun, then stomped back down the hall and thrust it into the detective’s hands. “Out.”

“You know I’m doing this to help you, John.”

John turned back to his room, likely to change out of his musty old pajamas, ignoring Greg’s words.

“Go a few days without drinking, huh? Take care of yourself, John.” And with that, the detective left.

John, now thoroughly out of energy, fell into his bed. He’d done a great job at ignoring the amount of extra space in his bed these last few years, but the too large bed, the empty house, and lack of life within it ate away at him. He may as well have been in the tiny little flat he could hardly afford when he first came back to England. 

For all the excess he now had, he was still just as miserable, if not more. He didn’t have to work, he didn’t have to take care of anyone, hell, he didn’t even have to take care of himself. 

The lights suddenly flicked back on, blinding John, who was now struggling to shut them off so that he could ride out his hangover in peace.

Crawling into bed once more and praying for an end to the distractions, John reflected on Lestrade’s visit. The one thing that wouldn’t leave his mind was the rude insinuation that he should set his sights on men. He’d known the man for years, why he’d make such a stupid suggestion…

John balled up his blankets, hugging them close and burying his face in the pillow. The now common occurrence of tears slipping down his face hardly phased him as he went down this line of thought. Maybe that was the explanation, he thought. This is why he was a failure, just like his father had told him he would be.

The painful memories struck him. Every time someone assumed him to be gay, that he was with Sherlock, that he was useless or worthless, the events plagued his life.

He recalled his childhood: normal, for the most part. Not every family was perfect, but what he had felt like the average, picturesque home. He’d lived in a house with his parents and his sister. Things were fine.

John pictured the day clearly.

He was 12, walking home from classes with his friend, Hugo. Rugby practice had been canceled that day, and since John lived closer to the school, they decided to hang out at his house. Upon finding the house empty, the two ran upstairs to John’s room and settled in.

Hugo had been very quiet that day. He’d always been a bit on the quiet side, but today he seemed uncomfortable. Being young men, they ignored it. They talked about classes, classmates, and the reasons for practice being canceled that day. 

Eventually, Hugo popped his head up, looking determined. “Hey John, I have a secret for ya!”

“What is it?” he’d asked. Hugo motioned for him to get closer. John made his way over and sat next to him on his bed. 

Hugo leaned in closer, his hand moving up. John had assumed it was to cup his hand to his mouth, as to not let the secret escape, but the hand grasped his jaw so that he could not turn away from his friend, whose lips were suddenly upon his cheek. When John turned to face his friend directly, he bent forward, their lips meeting.

John hardly had the time to process what was happening when he heard a booming yell just outside his room. His eyes opened to see the look of shock and fear on Hugo’s face.

The next thing he knew, his father had him by the collar of his shirt, his face twisted in a fury he’d never seen before. He screamed at Hugo to leave, and leave he did. Once the front door had shut, the only sound in the house was the blood pumping in John’s ears and his father’s labored breathing above him.

John, presently, shivered at the memory. He skipped the details, though they were as fresh in his mind as though they had occurred yesterday. 

The wounds had healed, but his dad’s threats and insults reverberated in his mind to this day. “If I ever catch you like that in this house again, I’ll beat you bloody!” “If you’re gay, you’re worthless!” “You’re going to end up a fucking failure if you go down this road!”

He remembered lying in bed, nursing his bruised and cut face for the next few days. He didn’t come out of his room to eat unless he knew no one was in the house, and no one in his family bothered to interact with him at all. 

When Monday came around, he shamefully walked around school as his classmates pointed and whispered. He knew it was irrational, but the idea terrified him that the other kids knew exactly what the cause was, and that they thought of him the same way his father did.

As John made his way to his first class, he spotted Hugo, who had been sitting in the spot they typically met up at each morning. They locked eyes, John seeing the pitying look in Hugo’s expression. He sniffed and continued on his way.

He never spoke to Hugo again from that point, and later that day Hugo had dropped out of rugby. John tried to think nothing of it. He had missed his friend dearly, but the rage of emotions he felt toward him kept him away. He could not blame Hugo for what happened to him. It was the dread that flowed through his entire body at the thought of things progressing between them that pushed him the farthest. 

The years went by. While he wouldn’t have admitted to it, John made conscious decisions in his life to ensure he would not “go down that path.” When he was 16, he went to parties, drank, and slept with as many girls as he could. He maintained his rugby career and made other friends in that crowd. The relationship he used to have with his dad never came back, but he told himself that doing these things was good for him, and that eventually his dad would see that he wasn’t worthless.

When Harriet came out to their mother, he resented the easy treatment she received. It wasn’t positive by any means - he understood that once he was older - but she did not have to deal with what he had been put through. She had enough fight in her to talk back and assert herself, and she never decided that she had to please their parents. 

Of course, looking back Harriet experienced her own set of issues, mainly infidelity and alcoholism. These factors created a distance in their relationship to one another, until Harry became so desperate as to ask John for help. 

Throughout his teens, he did his best to take care of his family, the idea that taking care of them would repair their family dynamic. His parent’s alcoholism began to rub off on Harry, and he attempted to curb his own drinking, fearing he would end up the same way.

If anyone appreciated the effort or loved him any more for it, it had never shown or been said. He gave up on them.

At this point, John had finished college and entered the military. His college years were a continuation of his late teens, though his lifestyle had become a product of those he surrounded himself with. He couldn’t tell himself that drinking and fucking wasn’t what he had wanted then, but he certainly could have ended up in a much worse position.

John had just given up on pleasing his father until the idea of becoming a medic in the army crossed his path. He pursued this career, as long as it lasted him, now caring for his alcohol dependent sister (financially). Taking care of Harriet didn’t make him any less useless, nor did joining the military. His father never really spoke to him again. His parents had been invited to his wedding with Mary, to which neither of them - nor even Harry - bothered to attend. 

He took in a shaky breath. Nothing he’d put himself through made any difference to his family. He’d lived his entire life trying to sew back the threads of a family that just didn’t care for him that much. 

He now understood his worth very well, as Mary and Sherlock both had taken every occasion to let him know how useless he was to them, and seeing how his life ended up, he was certainly a failure like his father told him he would be.

‘Maybe I am gay,’ he thought to himself. Everything else his father had told him came true. Why would this be any different?

John then allowed himself to contemplate the idea. His experience with men hadn’t gone much farther after Hugo. He had liked him enough. It happened so long ago, he couldn’t rightly say one way or the other that he had a crush on him, or liked him like that. Besides Hugo, he’d never kissed another man...unless he counted Sholto. The memory came back to him in a flash.

The heat of the desert, magnified by surrounding explosions and the layers of his uniform suffocating him. The frequent impacts and the shaking earth gripped at his heart, threatening to stop it. Several moments occurred in which he had to force himself to take in air, the reignited beating in his chest was both quick and painful.

Waves of nausea crashed over him after what felt like hours of this torture. ‘This is it,’ he told himself, ‘this is where it will all end.’ Only a handful of years into his military career, and his life was already forfeit. Of course, he’d always known the risks of this profession, but no amount of foresight could prepare him for what would certainly be his final moments before a painful and fiery death.

The tears spilled over, his sobs only further irritating the tentative functioning of his respiratory and circulatory systems. He became lightheaded which came with the benefit of muting the eruptions of artillery and bombs.

Breaking through the haze of his mind shutting down was a strong grip on his shoulder and a voice steady beyond the impending doom of their situation. 

John forced his eyes up to those of his commanding officer. 

Sholto was an infinitely unshakeable man, his demeanor stoic and unchallenging even now. His face, hardened by years of combat, stared deeply into John’s. 

He felt silly crumbling to pieces in front of him. John had hardly seen a quarter of what Sholto had been through, yet he was the one in a tearful fit.

Sholto tried once more to speak over the deafening blasts, “Watson! Get a hold of yourself!”

John attempted desperately to blink away his tears, gasping like a fish out of water to bring in enough oxygen to sort out his heart rate. The more he failed in this endeavor, the worse it became. The shame burned hotter than the sand spilling over them.

His hands flew from his weapon to shield his face, shouting apologies to the best of his ability. How dare he fail Sholto? How could Sholto be so unfortunate as to die beside someone so pathetic?

John felt the body beside him adjust, and within seconds his small frame was shoved under the weight of his commander. His face was buried deep into his officer’s shoulder, his head and torso cradled by Sholto’s arms. The terrified twitch in his legs was held down by a solid pair of hips. John could hardly be bothered by the amount of combat gear digging into the softest points of his body as the contact - though suffocating in its own right - relaxed his mind enough to gulp down the air he needed to get his body back in working order.

It was only when he was returned to his base state that John regained the ability to put greater thought into their position, how if anyone at all had witnessed this he would be laughed out of the Royal Forces, best case scenario. 

Before he became too ingrained in this train of thought, Sholto spoke directly into his ear, “John, it’ll be alright!”

John’s already abused heart quivered at hearing his first name. It didn’t come often anymore. It was rare he made contact with non-military personnel with the way his life was structured these days, and even when he’d found a lover within their forces, the ladies he had been with knew better than to get too familiar with their conquests. 

It almost felt wrong to listen to his commanding officer dance across that professional line, but then John remembered their position and wondered if it was past the point for him to justly question the use of a name he’d not registered as his own in years, more so than it was to be pressed so thoroughly into the body of someone higher in the chain. Was this fraternizing? Would they be kicked out?

Another thunderous crash reminded John of the real situation at hand: they were going to die.

“John! Are you alright!?”

"..."

“John! Respond!”

Sholto, the mountain of a man, was never one to act so familiar to other personnel. Not even when they were allowed short periods of leave, sat together in mess halls, or even when everyone else shared personal stories. It was rare that the man ever spoke at all unless spoken to. The closeness, the lack of professionalism, the feel of his entire body were all dizzying to John. He fought with himself on how to reply.

“Sir! I-I’m….I’m okay…!” His legs still trembled and his gut retracted at every new impact. 

He felt the body above him shift again, changing from a position that would shield one from a blast to a more casual, comforting hold. John’s eyelids fluttered shut, but he continued to grab onto him tight. 

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but the barrage never let up for a moment. Their finishing blow could come at any second. John accepted this, easing his body against Sholto’s arms and the hot ground, his head now resting on his officer’s chest.

“We’ll get through this, John. Just think of home,” Sholto said as he rubbed circles into John’s heavily armored back. 

Unfortunately for Sholto, this wasn’t as comforting a thought for John as it may have been for anyone else. A flash of pain spread across John’s face as he thought about “home.”

“What’s wrong?” 

John could have laughed at the question, if it weren’t for a great many reasons, the top of which being: what WASN’T wrong at this moment? But in this single interaction, he’d heard Sholto speak more than he had throughout his entire career. He would not laugh in the face of a man - so typically detached - as he did his best to soothe him. Especially not when he was wrapped so gently in his arms. 

Returning to this fact shook him. He was wrapped up in a man’s arms. As much as he brought up the fact that this was his commanding officer, and that this was gravely against all the rules, the thing that shocked him the most was how good he felt to be cuddled so by another man. It was the situation, he told himself. This wouldn’t feel half as good if it were in any other situation.

John snapped his attention back to what he’d been asked. “It ultimately doesn’t matter if I return home. There’s no one waiting for me to turn up. Dead or alive.”

If it weren’t for his constant thoughts on the topic, it would have brought John to tears. It had occurred many times before, being in his mid- to late-twenties and having no one in his life he felt he could return to. No family. No friends. The idea of returning home haunted him far more than the idea that he could become just another corpse in a desert. 

“You’re telling me that John ‘Three Continents’ Watson doesn’t have anyone to come home to?” Sholto joked, though it came out in the same monotone voice as all his other words.

John let out a breath of laughter at this. Hearing his dumb nickname from someone he thought had hardly paid him any mind...it was ridiculous. “No…”

Another blast came, interrupting them. John let his mask slip, his eyes sad, pained. Maybe it was for the best that it ended here. At least that was some consolation…

But in the next moment, his eyes lifted to see a spark of determination in his commanding officer, who swiftly bent down and placed his lips upon his.

John gasped and his veins felt like ice. As the moments passed, his nerves relaxed and he threw his convictions to the wind. This was likely the last moment of intimacy he’d ever have in his life. 

John settled fully into the kiss. Sholto was once more above him, the press of their lips drowning out the sensation of the ongoing war around them.

Sholto disengaged, looking meaningfully into John’s eyes as he told him, “Maybe home is someone you haven’t fully met yet…”

Before John could think up a response, a few calls were heard from just outside their bunker. Sholto threw himself over John once more as the entrance was forced open.

John watched as Murray, and several others from their platoon poured in to look them over. John and Sholto relaxed. As they began to right themselves, Murray made sure to point out how awkward their position looked from his view. John wheezed an uncertain laugh, just thankful they hadn’t found them any earlier.

Days later, they all attended a small party, celebrating their return. John received many pats on the back, as well as the odd dickhead pointing out how close to death they had come. John spent the night heavily drinking and doing his best to socialize. Near the end of the night, he decided to stagger his way back to his bunk. In an abandoned and dimly lit corridor, John heard the chase of fast, heavy footfalls behind him. He turned to find Sholto, back to his fully composed, steady self.

“John, may I have a word with you?” 

John nodded and leaned against the nearest wall. He didn’t want to let on just how drunk he was, though he was sure that Sholto could see through this act, as he gave him the slightest upturn of his lips, before returning to a neutral expression. 

“John, I want you to know...that I do not regret what happened,” he said, his gaze turned toward the floor. John begged his brain to lead him through the steps of thought. It took a moment for him to realize his first name was in use again. But...regret...about what? 

Sholto, sensing the confusion, clarified, “In the bunker. I meant what I did. I would not take it back.”

John nodded, though in his current state, he did not truly understand. 

“Are you alright with it?” Sholto asked him.

It clicked in John’s brain then. Their embrace, their intimacy. John did what he could to formulate a response. Sholto was a good, honorable man. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t always admired him. He was certain he, himself, didn't see men that way, though it wasn’t difficult to convince himself that Sholto was a fine exception. 

“Of course,” he said with an emphatic nod of his head, which nearly sent him tipping over, if Sholto were not there to catch his arm and right him. Sholto gave a nod and after a moment, a smile, maybe not fully convinced himself.

“Take care, Watson.”

John watched as Sholto marched his way back to his room, leaving John alone with his thoughts in the hall. 

Later that night, unable to sleep as he began to sober up, he buried himself in contemplation. Was Sholto suggesting that there was something deeper between them? Did he want more? Was he willing to give it?

These reflections bothered him, though he could not place the reasons why, so he decided to think nothing of it. Sholto was being reassigned elsewhere, and maybe their paths would never cross again. They were both getting promotions. He didn’t need to entertain these ideas, because nothing would ever come of them.

And so he had fallen asleep.

Now, John lay sleepless in his bed. Perhaps it made sense to look at it in this light. Maybe his attempts to bury these feelings were for naught. Maybe he did enjoy men.

He flipped over to his stomach, the revelation failing to bring him comfort. What did this information provide him? He was middle aged, his body was failing him, and according to Sherlock and Mary, gaining a noticeable amount of weight. On top of that, he was still a worthless failure. What would anyone want him for?

Even Mary, who had hinged her wishes for a normal life on him wasn’t satisfied with what he provided. The bar couldn’t have been lower and he was still a disappointment. Why wouldn’t she have betrayed his trust to be with David again?

John cried himself into a fitful sleep, telling himself that he would call Greg up tomorrow and take him up on his offer to help him meet people. As much as he wanted to collapse, he still wasn’t one to give up without trying.


	6. Chapter 6

Molly rapped on the door to no response. She repeated this a few more times, to similar outcome. She had been prepared to walk away when she heard a sneeze from inside. ‘So he’s ignoring me then?’ she thought to herself.

She tried the handle and found that the door was unlocked. ‘What in the hell…’

The first thing Molly noticed when she stepped in was the amount of trash lying about the place. ‘This is no state to be living in!’

It smelled like something was cooking - well, burning actually - so she made her way to the kitchen. 

“John Watson, why is-” Molly started, but was cut off by a yelp as a mostly undressed John blew at something on the counter, his body hunched over it.

Molly feared the worst, she knew how much influence Sherlock had over him, but hadn’t expected John of all people to become an addict. Her fears, however, were diminished as she took in the full scene.

John stood, wide eyed at her from the counter, his arms now wrapped around himself despite the fact that what was most important was covered up beneath a pair of boxers and a white undershirt. A book laid open beside the burners told her another piece of the story, but why?

“Molly, would you please knock next time!” John huffed at her, his eyes failing to meet Molly’s. 

“I did! Several times! And why in the world is your front door unlocked! What if someone got in!”

John snickered and shook his head, “Sherlock breaks in occasionally anyway, and if someone wanted to break in, I could easily take them on.”

Molly rolled her eyes, “It didn’t seem as though you were very prepared for me to walk in. And what about Rosie! What if they got to her first! And this mess! This is no place for a little girl to be raised in!”

There was a long silence that grated on Molly’s nerves. Was he really going to try to ignore her again?

“You’re right. This is no place for her,” John mumbled, mostly to himself.

Molly’s worry increased tenfold, and while she dreaded the answer, she asked, “John...where is she?”

John sniffed, though Molly could tell by his face, he’d already been cried out. He replied, “She lives with her real family now…”

Molly stared on in disbelief. Why was it that no one ever bothered to tell her what was happening? She dug her fingers into the scarf she’d knit for Rosie that was sitting in her bag. 

Her silence prompted John to continue, “I’m sorry...I should have let you know...Turned out, she wasn’t really my kid. Her dad came by and took her last week.”

It wasn’t the full story, but Molly was kind enough that she decided not to push him further. She looked to the counter where a few new burn marks had been put on the granite. Molly had a good idea what was going on, but still, she walked around the kitchen table to check.

She flipped the torn book over to reveal that it was John’s bible. Of course he would lose faith after all the things he’s had to endure these past few years.

“I never cared that much. It’s kind of cathartic, in a way,” John sighed, then pressed on, “It keeps me from just sitting here drinking. Not that it’s much more productive, or helps make it all go away…”

“John, it’s Thursday! What about your job!?”

“I quit. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You need something to keep yourself busy, at least!”

John maintained eye contact with Molly as he jerked around with the height of the burner’s flames.

Molly groaned, “Yeah, set your whole place on fire, why don’t you?”

John mashed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He knew Molly was right, but he was in no position to hold down his current job and keep it professional. He was unstable, and that often didn’t mix well with caretaking roles, he knew from experience.

“I just need some time away from it all,” John supplied. “I get to see her every other Sunday now.”

Molly nodded. She dug the scarf out and placed it onto a clean space on the table. “I made this for her. Make sure she gets it?”

John grunted in response, then tried again, “Thank you, Molly. You know I appreciate it.”

“Show me your thanks by cleaning this place up, yeah? You won’t feel any better living in this mess!”

John gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, will do.”

Molly carefully stepped around some boxes of garbage and found her way out.

‘Wonder who’s going to come yell at me next?’ John thought to himself as he began picking up his mess. 

He lifted the page he’d been burning mindlessly as Molly had walked in. He tried to make out the words on it. “Then you will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path.” Proverbs 2:9. John didn’t care to interpret the verse’s significance in his life. They were all written so that one could extrapolate whatever they wanted from it. He knew this, and it diminished any sense of comfort the book may have once given him.

He cursed himself for the mess he made. It was frankly a ridiculous amount for just over a week’s worth of trash, but he had been so down that he had lacked the energy to walk things to the bin. Everything stayed where he finished it. In some cases a thought had frustrated him, and he’d chucked a takeout container here or there. 

It took maybe twenty minutes to sort out, but it left John winded. He couldn’t tell if his lack of energy was due to his ever increasing age, his lack of exercise, or depression. Most likely it was a combination of the three, but it was nice to think that sorting out at least one of those problems would make it a non-issue.

He sat on the couch, still in his underwear. How embarrassing it was to have Molly come in on him, dressed the way he is, his house a mess, burning a bible page by page. He was being silly about it all, he understood that, but getting himself to operate as an adult human being with the way his brain was functioning...it became more of a burden than ever.

A stench wafted into his senses and he grimaced. His place was clean, it was his body that stank. It had to be quite bad for him to smell himself. He transported his body to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door, since everyone wanted to pay him a visit suddenly.

He stood in the cold, tiled room, its silence and small proportion weighing down on him. The orange tinted light burned harsh on his eyes that had grown used to the dim lighting of his kitchen and living room. 

Once he could see again, he removed his clothes, stepped up to the mirror above his sink, and looked in. 

His face was haggard, a window that allowed anyone who looked upon it to be given a clear picture of what his recent mental state had been. He always had bags under his eyes, but now they appeared bruised in their coloration, accenting the angry red of his eyeballs. 

As his gaze trailed down, his wrinkles faded beneath an unkempt fuzz. He no longer had a routine, so his facial hair had not been dealt with for some time. It was a patchy mess of red, brown, and white. He ran his hand through the hair on the top of his head, noting how the blonde strands were quickly turning white and thin.

Moving downward once more, his eyes rested on the scar on his chest. Recalling the burst of pain as the bullet pierced his flesh sent a shock to his leg, nearly causing him to fall over. If only he’d been more careful, maybe he wouldn’t have come as close to death as he had. Or if he had more insight, he would have moved just so that the bullet would have pierced something important. If that had been the case, he would not have gone through all that he had in his time back home.

The scar itself was ugly to him. He often kept himself well covered, because he hated it so much. Greg had pointed out at some time or another how he never saw John in anything less than a t-shirt. It was difficult for him to undress in front of others after he’d been shot. As eager as he’d been to get back in the dating scene upon his return to England, that step in his conquests always gave him pause.

John hated the extra attention it brought. His girlfriends would give him empty reassurances, that it wasn’t that bad, that it proved how strong he was, and then they would kiss and nuzzle it for minutes that felt like hours. It was terrible, and it did not show strength. It showed that he should have bled out.

The last part of his form that he could see in the mirror was his stomach. He couldn’t tell if he was fat, thin, or average. Sherlock and Mary’s words rang in his head. He’d insisted he only gained a couple of pounds, to which they agreed it was more like four. Was that even really a visible amount? He became deeply conscious of his weight at that point. For a while, he rode his bike to work instead of driving. His life was now sedentary. How much had he gained from that, and all the takeout he’d been ordering?

He hated himself. He disgusted himself. Tomorrow night, him and Greg would be going out to find him a date, but who would want this? John stared at his awful face as he crumpled into tears, yet again. 

He was pathetic, ugly, and he could hardly take care of himself. He was nothing, he informed himself. His own friends and family hardly wanted him either. And who could blame them? He’d been nothing but a burden.

John sobbed until his mind went blank, and then he showered himself. He emerged from his room, fully clothed, and walked through his clean home. Washing, cleaning. They were small efforts, but John did feel just a little better.

He sat on the couch and took out his laptop, setting it into his lap while he stared at the tv. He didn’t talk about Rosie too often on his blog, but wondered if it should become public knowledge that she was no longer living with him. It was potentially dangerous to have everyone know, but likely people would begin to ask anyway. He shut his laptop again. No. They don’t need to know everything, whether they ask or not.

He watched the tv, looking at the figures on the screen, but taking in no new information, unable to pay attention long enough to get invested. He shut it off, and decided he should go for a run. Maybe some exercise would help several of his problems…

~

John fiddled around with his phone nervously as he sat at the bar’s counter. Greg was supposed to meet with him twenty minutes ago, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

He knew he didn’t have to wait for him to start eyeing the other patrons, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. ‘This used to be so easy…’

He flipped his phone between his hands when it hit him. ‘I don’t even need to be here, this is the age of dating apps...online dating…’

John almost made to stand and leave, but he heard the swish of a long coat coming up behind him. “Do you always have to dress like a detect-”

“John,” Sherlock nodded. The tall man sat down beside him, his body facing the crowds while his eyes scanned. 

For a moment, John was furious. Was this some kind of a joke Greg was playing on him? Tricking Sherlock to show up when John was looking for a date, hoping the two would get together by the night’s end? Well that wasn’t bloody likely!

“Did Greg send you here?” John grumbled. It wasn’t a well thought out idea, and frankly, it offended John that the head detective would be quite so heavy handed in this matter.

“Hm? Lestrade? Of course not, he lacks the brainpower necessary to figure this out. As usual.”

This startled John. Was this then...Sherlock’s idea? Was he implying something…? His heart raced and his face reddened.

“Oh no, what the hell are you doing here?” 

John shifted in his seat to see that Greg had finally arrived.

Sherlock scoffed at the older man, then returned his focus to John, saying, “I suppose I was wrong! The both of you were able to see the trail would lead here.”

“Trail…?”

Greg crossed his arms over his chest, “This isn’t about the case, Sherlock. We’re trying to find someone for John.”

John deflated a bit. This was all embarrassing enough as it was. To think he could be having an easier time of it if he had just stayed in his home, in his bed, far away from anyone else…

Sherlock’s face scrunched up, “Why would he be doing that? I left him a copy of the case file the last time I saw him. He understands how important this case is! John, you’ve looked it over, haven’t you?”

John dropped his face into his hand. He’d certainly added a manila envelope to the burning pile.

Sherlock growled, “Useless! The both of you!”

“I told you, I was in no position to be helping you! You should have SEEN that from your last VISIT!” John snapped. What did it matter if John assisted or not? It was always Sherlock that solved the damn things. John could hardly even call himself moral support considering Sherlock ignored him when he was standing mere inches away from him.

“You only implied that night was no good for you. Why would you not at least skim through my notes!? Don’t you realize h-”

“I don’t CARE. I’m having a difficult enough time just managing myself right now, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” John looked around to see that his outburst had brought attention to them, and he shrunk back immediately, still glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock turned away, his eyes once more on the crowd, who went back to their own business.

“Greg, could we please go somewhere else?” John begged. Greg nodded and they took off down the road.

‘So much for meeting people, this plan has been a disaster so far,’ John thought to himself. A small part of him had already assumed it would go poorly, but Sherlock’s appearance assured John that things could always end up worse than you think they will.

John concentrated on his steps while Greg searched for a different place on his phone. At least it was a nice evening, their aimless wandering through the streets of London bringing John a calm he’d not felt in a long time. He often used to go on walks when he was troubled. Having a baby didn’t mesh well with that lifestyle, but it seemed like it would be a good habit to get back into.

Greg eventually shoved him toward a plain looking building, the walls nearly vibrating from the volume of the music being played inside. Upon opening the door, John was ready to turn on his heel right back to the pavement, but Greg took a hold of his arm and led him deeper inside.

He hadn’t caught the name of the place, but John could tell it was a club based on the music and flashing lights. In fact, this may have been one of the establishments Sherlock took him to for his stag-do. He could vaguely recall a fight…

He found himself seated with his friend at a table close to the bar’s counter, a drink in hand. John shook his head. He should have just asked Greg to reschedule. Coming out to a nightclub? It wasn’t his “scene,” and he wasn’t so sure he’d enjoy dating someone whose “scene” it was.

Greg flashed him an odd look, then stood to grab himself another beer. Not two seconds later, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. John tightened a fist and whirled his head around to see who was trying to get his attention.

His composure fell as John took in the sight before him: a slim, fit, young man held his hands in front of himself in defense. John grew concerned with how his instinct had been to fight the poor lad, so he lowered his hands to his lap and softened his expression.

“Sorry about that. Did you want something?” John did his best to smile up at the stranger.

Luckily, he relaxed in an instant, now feeling comfortable enough to move into Greg’s empty seat. “No worries, mind if I sit here?”

Before John could reply, he had seated himself in front of him. John nodded as he busied himself with a few gulps of his beer. He’d truly taken Greg’s advice to heart, forcing himself to quit drinking cold for a while with the exception of outings and socials. He drained his first beer within minutes, his current pint being his third.

“You know, you’re really kind of handsome…”

John scanned the man before him more thoroughly. His hair was coiffed, he wore a single piercing in one ear, an overly large, soft looking jacket, and incredibly tight pants that didn’t reach far enough to tuck into his docs. 

“Thank you…?” John reluctantly replied. He couldn’t tell if he was getting close to drunk or if he was being flirted with, but the answer became quite clear when a cold hand made contact with his resting on the table between them. 

“No problem,” he assured, his eyes darting between their hands and John’s eyes. He giggled, “It’s silly, but I have a thing for older guys…”

John’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He had been close to asking how old he was, but considering his stated preference, John decided to look for a way out of this. Hoping that Greg was on his way back, he checked the bar counter out of the corner of his eye. ‘Nowhere...fuck!’

“Oh no, I’m not interested in your friend, though he’s alright, too!”

His head was spinning. John quickly stood out of his chair and grabbed his drink, cutting his losses and making up an excuse, “Sorry, I better go find him, goodnight!” 

His heart raced as he roamed the club in search of the detective, bumping into people with mumbled apologies, forcing himself forward on his still aching leg. Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly, flipping the switch in him from panic to rage. His hand reached up to crush the fingers around his shoulder, the owner yelping in pain, “Fuck, what are you doing that for?”

John spun around to see Greg trying to regain feeling in his fingers. If he was being honest, John didn’t feel bad for his action, it was his fault that he ran away from him like that, and he certainly should have known better than to startle him.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was giving you two some space!”

“That kid had to have been in his twenties! I don’t want you setting me up with boys, Greg!”

“Alright, fine, you’re not gay, I get it! I just wanted you to keep an open mind!”

The detective continued to shake his digits back into place, John shaking his head as the anger dissipated. That wasn’t what John meant to imply - not being into men - but it seemed that letting Greg believe that would be his best choice. 

From then until the end of the night, the two sat and drank together. Little was said between them, but it was definitely preferable. Overall the night had been a massive failure, but Greg was satisfied since John was able to get out of his house for a bit.

They parted ways, and John was grateful to come home, no matter how oppressive its lifeless atmosphere was. His head still buzzed with alcohol, so he could easily ignore it. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he found the courage to send a handful of messages.

While he waited for Greg to meet him at the first bar, he had downloaded grindr. He wasn’t very familiar with online or app-based dating, but the app presented itself as an opportunity for men to find other men. 

John appreciated that this meant he would not be confronted by them in person. He was all too new to this, and the idea of making much physical contact with other men was a bit too fast for his liking. 

Pondering this brought to mind the young man at the club placing his hand on his. It felt like a punch in the gut when it happened. Was it because he was a man, or because he could see he was quite young? 

John groaned. He wished he would have tried to figure himself out when he was younger, but he couldn’t blame himself too much. It was a bad environment for self exploration. He was in the perfect position to be doing it now, so now he would do it.

The messages he received weren’t incredibly inspired. Though he made himself a profile in hopes of attracting people, not much thought had been put into the type of attention he may receive. 

Many of the messages he read were instantly deleted, the senders blocked. In fact, this was the case for an overwhelming number of messages he received, but he kept the app on his phone. It gave him a small hope of possibly finding someone who was right for him, as well as providing some entertainment from how ridiculous some of the profiles and messages were.

He could lie in bed swiping through it all for hours, which is exactly what he did until sleep took him.

~

Half-way into Saturday, Sherlock burst through his front door. John, who was previously sitting around and reading a novel, didn’t flinch at the intrusion. He didn’t bother to look up from his book until a few unhappy noises later. Sherlock glared at him, his arms crossed, tapping his foot incessantly.

John sighed and laid his book down. “What is it now?” 

Sherlock dug into his coat and produced a folder. “You’re going to help me with this case,” he said, smacking it down into John’s lap.

“Tell me, WHAT from the last two weeks have I done to make it sound like I want any part in this? I’m certainly not in the mood for your attitude right now!”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed as he shouted, “If you have enough time to be going to clubs and bars and looking at grindr, then you have more than enough time to help me dismantle a murderous crime ring!”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” John puffed out his chest as he rose to his feet, taking hold of Belstaff lapels and pulling them back toward the door. “NOW!”

Sherlock sneered at him, “Oh have I hit a nerve? You don’t like that I know you’ve been chatting up young men?”

“I have NOT been ‘chatting up young men,’ you arsehole! And even if I was, it’s none of your business! If this case is so important, then how do you have the time to be stalking me!?”

Sherlock pulled himself out of John’s hold, straightening his coat and hair. “Is it so bad that I’m concerned over the well-being of my best friend at such a sensitive moment in his life?”

“I DO NOT APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERN.” John paced for a moment, trying his best to cool off before he continued, “I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself. I’ve been able to keep myself afloat up to this point.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve been there to help you through all sorts of troubles,” Sherlock shot back.

John shook his head, “And you seem to forget that you are the one to have caused and worsened a great deal of those ‘troubles.’”

John returned to his spot on the couch, taking his phone out to ignore his friend. The cushion depressed as Sherlock sat beside him. ‘Great…’

“You’ve got some messages on grindr, you know,” Sherlock pointed out, to which John just rolled his eyes. John tapped on the notification. It didn’t matter if Sherlock saw, he probably bugged his home and his phone and his job and his person…

He winced as he read over the first message in his inbox: “Heyyy you looking DADDY you should come over tonight :)” the profile showed a toned man in his mid-twenties puckering his lips, trying to look sexy. The second message: “Looking for delicious bottoms to get inside of. Love to eat a juicy ass!” from a much older, bearded man, his username “positive papa.” Judging by the health section of his profile, “positive” didn’t mean “upbeat.”

"I think 'papa' is just your type," Sherlock deadpanned.

"I'm not too interested in getting fucked by father Christmas," John snorted. Sherlock gave his own short chuckle before they returned to silence.

“I don’t understand why you bother with that,” Sherlock told him plainly.

“I don’t understand why you bother coming around anymore,” John boredly replied. He turned to find a look of hurt in Sherlock’s eyes. John knew the man could be manipulative at times, but that look still got to him. He just couldn’t tell what was genuine with him anymore. Maybe he never really knew.

Eventually, Sherlock took off without another word. John released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He remembered a time where he wished for things to go back to how they were before. Back when John had first settled into 221B. Back when he could tell himself that he understood Sherlock, and that they were good friends. Sometimes too comfortable with each other…

These weren’t ideas worth sitting on anymore. He had the rest of his life to get through.


	7. Chapter 7

John cursed at his satnav for telling him to turn right when it was far too late to get into the proper lane. He already woke up a bit late due to sleeping past his alarm, and now he was going to be an extra couple of minutes later. He blamed the navigation, the spacey feeling in his head, the fog rolling in, anything to lessen the idea that he’d fucked up yet again. The frustration he felt wasn’t helping his navigation, so he took a few deep breaths through his nose.

This was the first time in two weeks he would be seeing Rosie. John had done everything he could to take his mind off the fact that Rosie didn’t live with him anymore, had begged and prayed for sleep to take him for the majority of these two weeks, and the only time his wish had been granted was the few hours before he was supposed to see his daughter.

Finally pulling up to David’s house, he stabilized his breathing and checked himself in the rear view mirror to ensure that he looked presentable. There was nothing to be done about the bags under his eyes, nor the gaunt, sallowness of the rest of his face. He’d avoided mirrors since his previous body image episode, and the face staring back at him betrayed how his new lifestyle has been treating him: not well at all. 

He rubbed a hand over his bearded cheeks, then stepped out of the car. There was no fixing the rest of him. Rosie was waiting.

John stumbled over a crack as he walked up the pavement to the house, a piece of walkway jutting just a little farther up than the rest, which did not serve the ache in his leg. He looked more carefully around himself as he continued, appreciating the potted plants and soft looking, well-kept grass of the front lawn. It gave the feel of a countryside cottage despite clearly being in a more urban neighborhood. 

He came up to a jewel toned door and extended a finger to ring the bell. John pictured the front of his own home: just one of many flats, unassuming, non-deviating white doors and white paint. Mary had talked him into putting some plants on the sill just outside their front window, which were now certainly dead from a few weeks of no care. Here, John could perfectly imagine an older Rosie playing in David’s front garden with her younger half-sibling. 

As the door unlocked, he straightened his back and took a deep breath. Victoria appeared, the smile faltering the moment she took in the state of the sad looking man before her, but she quickly recovered and turned her head back inside the house, calling out, “Rosie! You have a visitor!”

John flashed a smile at her as she opened the door wider, allowing him to step inside. “I’m so sorry about the mess, John. It’s just getting a little harder for me to clean up these days!” Victoria rubbed at her abdomen for clarification. 

“Oh, no worries, I understand. I’d say it’s cleaner here than my place is currently!” John replied as he checked his surroundings. He couldn’t see any “mess” that wouldn’t be better attributed to a home well lived in: a few cups on side-tables, a forgotten toy here or there, a pair of slippers next to an armchair.

In less than half a second, John felt tiny hands burying into his cardigan and peered down to see a small blonde head resting on his hip. His entire being warmed, his throat ached, and tears pricked at his eyes as he lifted the girl into his arms. She was bigger and heavier than he remembered, which he could probably blame on how little John had exerted himself in the past two weeks, but even with his straining muscles, he refused to let her go.

“Daddy, your face is itchy!” Rosie giggled, muffled by his neck, which he hadn’t had the time to shave that morning.

John continued to squeeze her tightly. David walked in, potentially summoned by Rosie screaming out “daddy,” since he gave John a disappointed smirk in greeting. 

“Mmmm, how are you, Rosie? Daddy missed you so much!” he said as he laid a kiss in her hair. John noticed Victoria and David nod to each other and walk into a different room. Relaxing somewhat, he knelt down to the floor and let Rosie stand on her own, though his hands never left her sides and her arms still circled his shoulders.

“Daddy, come look at my room!” Rosie yelled as she tugged John’s arm in the direction of the hallway. He followed dutifully along, taking quick glances at the photos framed along the length of the hall. He pictured his own walls, mostly bare. There were a handful of photos, but a few had been removed from the walls, turned away, or shoved deep into a drawer to be forgotten, their dust outlines a constant reminder of the holes in his life.

Rosie let go of his hand and skipped her way inside one of the rooms. John peered inside to see a fairly large, decorated room. It looked far more like a little girl’s room than she had back home. The walls were painted a pastel pink with a floral wallpaper just below the ceiling. Her toys were evenly distributed around the room instead of being tucked away in a box, and many were laid on the top level of a bunk bed that was placed in the corner. 

“Look at this!” Rosie chirped as she climbed her way to the top of the bunk bed. “This is my bed! And when the baby is big enough, she’s going to sleep down there!” she pointed to the lower level. 

John chuckled, “There’s privileges to being the older child aren’t there?” 

Rosie nodded her head emphatically and reached her arms out to him. John stepped up to the bed and hoisted her off of the bed and into his arms before placing her on the ground. Rosie giggled and then climbed back up to the top.

“Oh no, I didn’t come here just to play this game!” John smiled at her. God, he missed her. Even the things he used to find exhausting about having a kid made him feel nostalgic.

The girl screeched in laughter and buried herself into the toys in the corner of her bed. John pet her hair and stared into her eyes. She looked happy here.

But he needed it confirmed. “Rosie, sweetie, how are you doing, settling in here?”

She sat up straight and looked at him. She gave him a small smile and shrugged. John went in to tickle her stomach, to persuade her to start talking. She screamed for the fluffy fingers to stop and then she conceded soberly, “It’s okay, but I miss you.”

John pursed his lips at her, “I miss you, too...Ah, I brought something for you, but I left it in the car!” The two made their way outside, John noting that David and Victoria watched them closely from the window - as though he was here to smuggle Rosie out - as John dug around the trunk of his car. He pulled out the scarf that Molly had made for her and placed it around Rosie’s neck. She gasped in delight.

“Tell Molly I said thank you, please!” she said as she hugged the scarf to herself. 

John grabbed a notepad and pen out of his car and scribbled a series of numbers on it, then handed the page to Rosie. “Here, tell her yourself. This is her number. If you need to talk to someone, and you can’t tell it to your parents or I’m not available, call her, okay? Just try not to bug her too much.”

Rosie thought for a moment before nodding. “Good. We should head back inside, your parents look worried.” Rosie frowned but did as she was told.

She brought John back to her room and told him - in her usual monologue fashion - about the move in, daycare, the dreams she’d had, and everything else she experienced in the past two weeks that John hadn’t been present for. Whereas before John would tune most of this out, he now engaged fully in the conversation, soaking in every last detail. 

As the hours passed, David and Victoria would move about the house, passing by and checking in with them wordlessly. When this happened more and more frequently, John checked the time to find that it was nearly dinner. 

“You have my number, right sweetie?” John asked, to which Rosie nodded. “Alright, I think it’s about time I go.” Rosie gripped both of her hands around his, and John’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll see you in another two weeks, okay?” She let go with a frown and John stood. 

“I love you, be a good girl like always, yeah?” 

John slowly made his way out of the house when he was stopped by David. “John, could I speak to you just a minute before you go? Outside?” He nodded and the two men made their way into the front garden.

“John, you’ve got to help us make Rosie realize that we’re her mother and father,” David stated. 

John narrowed his eyes at him, “Why? If you’re her parents, you can teach her. She’s a smart girl, I’m sure she already understands that much.”

David shook his head. “It’s not like that. She gets it, she just doesn’t…” he paused to think, “...she won’t call us ‘mom’ or ‘dad’ or anything like that! What little girl calls their parents by their first names?” 

He hadn’t considered that, but it wasn’t incredibly surprising to John given the amount of time Rosie has lived with them. “I’m sure if you give her some time she’ll warm up to it.” John made toward his car when he was yanked back.

“She told us she wouldn’t call us her parents. John, she trusts you more than she trusts us. Please. I’ll give it some time, but the next time you come over, please talk to her…” David pleaded. 

John chewed on this information, nodding. 

“Please, John...she keeps calling you her dad, and it just isn’t-” 

“I AM her dad, David. I’ve been her dad every second of her life. I’m not going to convince her that I’m not. Show her that you love her, and that you care for her. Let it be her decision, I’m not going to tell her to do anything she doesn’t feel comfortable doing. If you treat her like you are her parents, then she’ll let you in. Good night.”

With that, John walked out to his car, seating himself inside and taking off. The nerve of David to think he’d ask his daughter to stop thinking of him as her dad! Fat fucking chance. His anger dissipated as he pulled up to his home, replaced with ennui as he took in the sight of it. Bare. Plain. As he walked in, he kicked a mound of boxes that had piled up once more. ‘At least I shouldn’t be getting any visits for a while,’ he thought to himself.

He pulled out his phone to order his dinner when he noticed a Grindr notification. Another message. Probably someone looking to huff his nuts or something similar. He continued ordering his curry from an Indian restaurant nearby, then decided to take a shower.

It wasn’t until later that night, dressed and full, that he finally picked up his phone to check the message he’d received. His breath ceased when he saw the name and the tiny picture next to the message.

Hugo.

“Hey John! Long time no see! I know we haven’t talked in a very long time, but I’d really appreciate the opportunity to catch up with you, if you’re interested? Cheers.”

His hands shook and tears began to form in his eyes. With a sharp inhale, he looked over the man’s profile. Maybe it wasn’t him…

The profile however did not disappoint. It was him alright. All the details seemed about right, the ones John knew of anyway. It said he was married, and that he was looking for friends and conversation. 

‘It’s been...years...how many years…,’ John wondered. ‘Thirty something years ago? I…’

He reopened the message, wracking his brain for a proper response. John could certainly use another friend, especially one who was openly gay himself, but...was it okay? Did Hugo really want to be friends with someone who he had confessed his feelings to, only to have those hopes crushed and stomped on?

He swallowed his doubt. Hugo wouldn’t have messaged him if he harbored hatred or ill will toward him, right? At least not as kindly and openly as what he did send.

He tapped out a reply. 

“Hugo, it’s been so long. I’d love to talk with you. Whenever you’re free, I’m free.”

He hit send and laid his phone down. He stared off into space, unable to grasp the situation. 

Not a full minute later, his phone vibrated with Hugo’s response.

“I’m actually free tomorrow from 11-2p. You’re in London, right? We can meet up at the cafe on Central. Short notice, but we could reschedule?”

“No, that works for me. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait! Good night.”

John dropped his phone beside him, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. The muscles throughout his body contracted, the stress overwhelming him. He already regretted agreeing to see Hugo. It was a mistake born of the need to seek community. 

He repositioned himself on the couch, lying supine as he stared off into space. He had to repeat to himself, ‘Hugo wants to see me? Hugo wants to see me? Hugo wants to see me!’

John slid off the couch and entered the kitchen, digging into his fridge, and grabbing a beer. ‘One a week,’ he told himself, ‘may as well take it now.’ He chugged it down in one go, feeling better just by the comforting taste of what he’d been keeping himself away from enjoying.

John rubbed the tension from his face, carrying himself to his bedroom.

~

Sitting outside the cafe with a cup of coffee in hand, John waited for Hugo to show up. He made sure to come a bit early. It helped him to feel more in control of the situation, not to come upon Hugo, waiting on him, shuffling his feet, worrying over whether he should get a coffee, if leaving for a moment to do so would be rude, etc, etc.

The fog of yesterday had rolled away, a rare day of sun. John kept his eyes down on his phone as he sipped at his drink. He couldn’t stand the anxiety of Hugo’s arrival, so for the time being, he kept his mind away from it.

His stomach flipped when a voice came from behind him, calling, “John! It’s good to see you!”

He turned to see Hugo’s smiling face. He was much older - of course, so was John - but he retained all the prominent features he’d had in his youth. It was bizarre to view such a gap in development. 

“Hey! Hugo, you’ve hardly changed a bit!” John exclaimed. Hugo’s brows knit together and he pursed his lips, sending John into a panic, thinking he fucked up this encounter already.

“What are you talking about? I’ve changed a lot. Look, I’m growing a beard!” Hugo joked as he scratched his cheeks. 

John chuckled, relieved that he hadn’t truly upset his old...friend. “I’m sorry, was that the dress code for this event? I had my own coming in, but I whacked it off this morning for you. I’m told it doesn’t serve me, but I see yours works just well.”

Hugo smiled to his eyes, then sat in the chair across from John. “Why, thank you. I’d say you haven’t changed much either, you’ve always been a charmer!”

John blushed to his ears and hid his smile behind his coffee. He could laugh at himself now. He worried all night about how this meeting would go, but the two fell back into step with each other as though they had never drifted apart. 

Even so, John didn’t feel right continuing to ignore their past. “Hugo…” the man raised his eyebrows and gave John his full attention. “Hugo, I’m so sorry, what I did was uncalled for. You were my best mate and I…” John trailed off. He hadn’t planned how he would apologize, so it fell short of what he wanted to get out.

After a moment, a hand was placed on his forearm. “I can hardly blame you for that John. I could have given you more warning, or at least been a bit more discreet. I’m more concerned about you. You showed up to school the next day with a black eye...I’ve blamed myself ever since.”

John shook his head, “No, that wasn’t your fault, Hugo. It was...just a bad time for my dad to be confronted with that...but I think I felt the same as you did for me. If he never found out, I think we would have been more. I just got so scared after what he did that...I let that fear take over. That’s why I pushed you away. I was being a coward when I should’ve stood up for myself, I could have-”

Hugo squeezed his arm hard and cut in, “You don’t need to make excuses for others, John. It was awful what he did to you. And don’t go blaming yourself either. That’s a terrible position for someone so young to be in. I understand why you pushed me away, I’ve never looked down on you for that. I gave you your space, even though I missed you so much.”

The hand on his arm retreated. John forced his voice back to his throat, uttering a weak, “I missed you, too.”

Hugo smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, I heard somewhere that you have a little detective friend.” The emphasis placed on “friend” caused John to groan, which Hugo laughed at.

“Please he’s just a friend. Nothing more.”

Hugo nodded and smuggly crossed his arms. 

John continued, “In fact, I’ve really...only come to the realization that…”

Hugo held his gaze, patiently waiting for John to finish his statement.

“...I’ve only realized I might like men very recently,” John ended swiftly.

Hugo looked over at him sympathetically. “Funnily enough, I only realized I was gay maybe...seven years ago?”

The revelation shocked John, but soon eased into comfort. It had been a major insecurity that he realized so late in life, that he should have had these realizations earlier, but the fact that Hugo had the same issue minimized his worry.

Hugo added, “I actually married a woman and had kids before I ever asked myself if I was gay. Yeah, I knew I liked men, but...It took me a while to sort all of that out...I’m happily remarried now. You may have seen it on my grindr profile.” He scratched at his beard and giggled, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“I’m really happy for you, Hugo. And thanks, that makes me feel just a bit better.”

Their conversation became less tense. They discussed the details of their lives after they went their separate ways. Hugo went to school to become an archivist and worked in a nearby library. John was surprised that he had been Hugo’s only male crush until he began to have issues with his wife, causing him to question his sexuality. Since Hugo was familiar with his blog, he decided to leave out many of the details of his acquaintance with Sherlock. He thought briefly to himself, ‘I really should delete that thing…’

Hugo suddenly pulled out his phone and messed around on it before turning it so that John could see the screen. He showed him photos of his twin sons practicing for a junior’s football game. Hugo got the boys every other week, and he did his best to uplift and care for them. John shakily brought up his phone to show off its background photo; Rosie with frosting smeared over her face. 

John knew this would come up eventually, but his heart still shuttered when Hugo exclaimed, “Kids are a handful, I don’t know how you manage one on your own!”

“Ah, about that..” John took a breath and then blurted it out, “She’s not mine biologically. Her real father and his wife took her in just a couple of weeks ago.”

His old friend flashed him another of many sympathetic looks he’d received as John had detailed his life and said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you still get to see her though?”

John told him about yesterday’s visit, which devolved into him complaining over David’s begging him to stop being Rosie’s father. Hugo bit back at David’s words, confirming to John how ridiculous David was for asking such a thing.

Their meeting was like a balm to a handful of John’s worries. As much as John enjoyed surrounding himself with extreme personalities, geniuses, and socially inept assholes, spending some time with someone who was “normal” helped improve his general mood. 

Eventually Hugo had to return to work, and they said their goodbyes. John had been invited to dinner at his place so that he could meet his husband and catch up some more. They exchanged numbers, promising to let the other know when a good time would be to meet up again, and parted ways.

John walked off with a bounce in his step. Life moved forward. It would all be okay.

~

When John walked up to his front door, he noticed a medium sized box had been left next to his door. He cautiously investigated it for a label (a habit he’d picked up after a few case-related mishaps in the past), his fears assuage when he saw the return address on a label. 

He checked his surroundings before rushing inside with it and locking the door. He couldn’t have anyone barging in unannounced as he opened this, he would just die.

John locked himself in his bedroom as well before taking out a knife and carefully slicing through the packaging tape. From the box he pulled out two smaller boxes and set them on his bed.

The parcel was chucked across the room as John worked the smaller boxes open. He slid the top off of the larger of the two and pulled out the satchel containing his prize. 

John wondered if there were cameras installed within his bedroom, but then decided that it didn’t matter. If Mycroft or Sherlock wanted to watch him that badly, they would see him doing this no matter where he went.

Out of the satchel he pulled out a dark blue dildo, featureless and sleek. There were plenty on the website that resembled actual penises, but the idea of owning one of those sent John’s head spinning. The one he held in his hand now was simple and would get the job done.

After washing it thoroughly in his bathroom sink, he set it on his nightstand and began to open the smaller box. Inside was a bottle of lubricant. Nothing fancy, though of course there were dozens of different sensations and flavors available. Maybe once he got used to...all of this...he would try other things…

John stripped off his many layers, both excited and mildly terrified to try out what he bought. Thank fuck for online shopping. He would never be able to keep a straight face to a store clerk knowing full well he was buying these things for himself.

Once fully naked, he laid himself on his bed and pumped some lube onto his fingers. To be honest with himself, he felt a bit silly. He’d done this to others often enough, and at his age, he’s gone in for a prostate exam twice. It didn’t make sense to him how nervous he was to do this alone with himself, but he supposed it was the context. It wasn’t normal for him. He may have had a girlfriend here or there who wanted to play with his ass before, but he’d denied them, or given in for a few seconds before retracting the consent.

He took a deep breath and played with the slickness on his fingers before his hand lowered down his body. His unlubed, right hand dove down to take a hold of his hardening cock as his left trailed further to its destination. John shivered as he rubbed his fingers along his entrance. Every few moments he sucked in a breath, the action becoming a voluntary effort rather than the typical involuntary filling of his lungs. 

John tried to relax himself as he slipped a finger inside. It was uncomfortable, but it was only the first digit, and he had hardly made it to the first knuckle of said digit. He slid in further with a grunt, his genitals softening in his other hand. He nearly made it to his second knuckle when he pulled out, the outward movement causing a bit more pain than it had going in. 

His legs twitched from the shock of the unfamiliar intrusion. John threw his head back, trying to catch his breath. He immediately felt dizzy, the illness quickly fading into emotional distress. 

He couldn’t get a single finger in, how was he going to have sex with a man if he couldn’t do this?

The thought sent John spiraling. His body was already growing old and falling apart. He couldn’t look at himself without feeling a bit ill, how could he find someone if he was so hideous AND he couldn’t pleasure them? He muffled his whimpering cries into his elbow. ‘I’m so fucking pathetic,’ he told himself.

When he calmed down, he turned his head to stare at the dildo that would likely go unused for some time. An idea struck him. 

John grabbed the dildo and brought it to his face, placing his lips against the “head” as though it were a real penis, and slipped it into his mouth. He felt himself grow hard again and returned a hand to his cock. He pumped himself as he worked the soft, silicone toy in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue around the tip of it. He pulled the dildo out of his mouth with a pop, slightly worried by how much the fake oral turned him on. ‘Alright, this is really getting pathetic....’

He placed the dildo back on his nightstand, his erection already falling flaccid once more. He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, continuing to lie in his bed naked, too deep in his thoughts to worry about his decency. 

It was a learning process. It would take time to feel comfortable enough with himself - his body, his sexuality - to be able to share this with another man.

He laid with his limbs outstretched and grimaced from feeling the unfamiliar, lubed slip around his ass.

‘I need a shower.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments and kudos! I'm really happy to see that other people are getting into this, I thought I'd be writing it mostly for myself LMAO  
> To thank you guys, I'm trying to space things so that I can put out two full chapters, maybe a couple weeks from now (when the REAL plot starts moving along). Not to spoil too much, I'm just really appreciative of you all!

Retirement was hard, especially since John wasn’t old to the point of movement becoming an issue. He was certainly tired, enough to keep him from doing anything he would have done normally besides work - that was easy enough to tell from the constant messy state of his home - but sleep never came to him when he wanted it to, and when it did take him, it wasn’t for long.

John rubbed his hands over his eyes, the action becoming more and more frequent in his daily life. The sting of exhaustion just didn’t go away on its own.

He stood, desperate to will himself into doing something, anything, before Greg came around. An hour prior, he’d gotten a text from his friend, who was stressed out from his occupation, and invited John out to go drinking later. John had spent most of the day sitting on his couch, staring at his laptop, and ignoring the tv across from him. It was an upgrade from sitting on the floor of his kitchen drinking himself into a stupor, but it wasn’t much of one.

Grabbing a bin bag, John collected the garbage around his home. The number of takeout boxes and food wrappers had minimized since the last cleaning, but John knew it wasn’t due to him being more conscious of his environment. It was far more the result of being conscious toward his person. 

His stomach growled as he thought about it and he angrily shoved another fistful of tissues into his trash bag. 

John squinted his eyes as he stepped outside to throw away his trash. It was a cloudy day, but the natural sunlight that managed to penetrate the haze still burned his retinas. A headache was sure to follow. 

It felt like a major step in the right direction every time he found himself outside his home, no matter how minor the reason. With his trash deposited, he talked himself into a quick bike ride around the block. The fresh air eased the migraine, he could feel his lungs expand farther than they had in the last few days, the blood circulating in his veins, and certainly a bit of exercise would do him some good.

When he came home, he was surprised to find another grindr notification. In the first week with the app, he had received a flood of many - truly terrifying - messages asking if he was “down” to perform various...acts, of which he didn’t feel entirely comfortable imagining at this point in his journey, but now the messages had come to a trickle.

This is why it was a shock when he found a new message. Doubly shocking since it sounded completely sane and normal with no alarming demands or begging.

“Hi John, was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date this Saturday? I know a nice place in south London. Lmk if you’re interested.”

John quickly looked up what “lmk” meant before checking out this man, Shaune’s, profile. He looked handsome enough, short brown hair, dark colored eyes with a hint of warmth to them, and tan skin stretched across a smiling face. He was a handful of years younger, but many inches taller - not at all a turnoff for John.

Once he had “cleared” the man, John sent his reply, affirming that he was interested. He felt giddy for a moment. This was the first he would be meeting up with a man for an actual date! Things were beginning to look up.

As his phone chimed with the address of the restaurant Shaune planned on taking him, Greg pounded at his front door. John cleared the tabs from his phone, then pocketed it along with his wallet and stepped out for the night.

~

Greg ranted about the most recent case, he urged John to recall his own participation from many weeks ago, informing him that the lead Sherlock had been following had turned up with nothing, and that the trail had gone cold. As little as John cared to continue being a part of the case, he found it difficult to concentrate on his friend’s words, but he nodded politely and offered a noise here and there to encourage him to continue.

The detective went on and on about how little progress was being made, how John should talk Sherlock into easing up on insulting him, and soon devolved into complaints he has been receiving from his forensics team regarding Sherlock’s behavior.

He fell silent for a minute, which John didn’t catch until his friend sharply called his name.

“John!”

His head snapped over to stare at the detective. Thinking he must have caught on that he wasn’t paying full attention to his story, he shifted his gaze to the counter in front of them, maintaining the decency to look somewhat ashamed. He’d honestly tried to listen, but…

“John, are you...are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little pale…” Greg reached out a hand, but did not touch him.

John took in a deep breath and settled his head in his hand, the piercing tone of his ringing ears threatening to pull his consciousness out from under him. His breathing quickly became the only thing he could hear when a cup of water was pushed into his free hand. He swallowed his pride and took a sip.

“You’ve not been taking care of yourself. Am I going to have to-”

“Please……………….just...give me a minute…” John cut in a dazed condition. He drank his water and focused on his air intake until the general bustle of the pub came back to his senses.

He opened his eyes which he hadn’t realized had been closed, then weakly looked over to Greg, who shook his head at him.

“You don’t have to mother me, you know…”

“Well, obviously I do, you looked like you were going to drop dead! John, you need help…”

All he could do in response was groan lightly. Looking down, he watched as Greg scooted a plate of chips his way. 

“Eat.”

“Greg, you-”

“You’re going to eat right now. You’re weak, you almost passed out. I don’t care what excuse you have, you’re killing yourself! I can see it in how thin you’re getting, your neck looks like it could snap from the weight of your head, c’mon!” Greg whispered harshly.

John shut his mouth and grabbed his collar, pulling it closer to his throat to hide himself. He stared at the plate. It was true, he felt quite - physically - poorly, but he was so terrified. Terrified of being unappealing. Terrified of living the rest of his days alone. But maybe it was inevitable. There was so much about him that was purely unfixable. 

His eyes watered. He felt ashamed, unaided by his friend beside him, frustratedly pointing out more of his flaws. Even if he was desperately hungry, he had no appetite. 

He was about to get up and bolt for the door when he heard Greg sigh. “I’m sorry, John. You know I worry about you. It’s hard to see you like this. You know I’m not good at this stuff.”

John rubbed at his eyes and nodded.

Greg continued, “You’ve got to eat. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish by starving yourself, but it’s not going to help you. It’ll make you feel worse, and it’ll only make you gain bac-”

“I’m a doctor. I know what it’ll do,” John rolled his eyes and grunted.

The detective shut up at that point, just glad to watch as John mechanically shoveled some food into his mouth and swallowed it down. John asked him to continue his story about how the case was going, if only to take the attention away from himself, and Greg obliged. 

Half an hour later, John was back to feeling some semblance of humanity. He knew it was stupid of him to forgo eating, but logic didn’t always play a large role in one’s head when they were going through what John was going through now.

He startled when a high voice sounded from his left. John looked to find a fairly gorgeous woman in her mid forties smiling at him. She was short and shapely with blonde hair and brown eyes. 

“Hey! I’m Angie. Give me a call some time?” the woman said as she slipped a piece of paper across the counter. John flashed her a smile as she walked away, and when she was far enough away, his brows knit together and he crushed the paper in his hand.

“What the FUCK are you doing?” Greg said lowly through grit teeth, attempting to stop his crumpling.

“I’m not interested, Greg. I’ve already got a date coming up,” John placated. He could hardly believe it himself, but it was true. She’d been good looking, he would’ve killed to have taken the interest of someone like her years ago, but he didn’t feel any spark, any sort of excitement to get to know her further. 

He wondered to himself why this was. His newfound interest in men didn’t exactly squash his interest in women. John didn’t wonder about these topics for long. He lacked the knowledge to think about these subjects to a more meaningful degree, and he still found it hard to seek advice on any of it, hoping that it would all just come to him in time.

John chalked the lack of interest in women up to him being more interested in discovering something new. It made enough sense to him, so he left it at that.

Greg rolled his eyes. “Well hold onto that just in case your date - that you haven’t bothered to inform me about - goes south, yeah?”

John tucked the paper in his pocket before saying, “I didn’t feel the need to tell you about the date. And I still don’t,” then took a sip from his beer.

“Are you seriously still mad about that first night? I apologized, I don’t know what more you could want from me. I’ve even backed off trying to set you up with people!”

“And boy am I thankful for that!” John retorted. 

The evening went on until Greg grumbled about going back to work tomorrow. They parted ways, taking separate cabs home. When John entered his home, he tossed himself on the couch once more and went through several states of consciousness throughout the night.

~

On Saturday, John arrived at his date, early as usual. He sent Shaune a message so that he would know he was already there, and that he may walk right in and find him seated. 

He sat at a booth in a corner of the restaurant, facing the entrance. Putting more than a second’s thought into it, he realized this would be his first date in years. The idea made him squirm uncomfortably. He hadn’t put the time in to think about this fact, nor had he put much thought into how this was his first date with a man. Did he need to do anything differently? They weren’t incredibly young, so would the pacing be different? Would he expect to be taken back to John’s place at the end of the night? He had no idea what to expect.

His eagerness flipped like a switch toward anxiety. He stared at the table beneath his elbows, tracing the patterns in the hard wood with his eyes. His stomach was doing flips and he bounced his leg uncontrollably. ‘What was the worst that could happen?’ he attempted to reassure himself, before recalling several other dates in the past that had been ruined by Sherlock pulling both him and his date into a case. He pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought.

John didn’t recognize Shaune until he stared at him pointedly and flashed him a toothy grin. He adjusted himself so that he sat up straighter as the man approached. 

“Nice to meet you, John. Thanks for coming out here tonight!”

“Yeah, absolutely. Thanks for inviting me out!” John smiled back. He’d already come across his first road-block: he had no idea what to say.

In fact, a fair portion of the night involved a great deal of effort on both of their parts to generate conversation. John felt the need to skirt around his current state of being. He had just lost his daughter due to a criminal record, quit his job, and lived an incredibly reclusive lifestyle. It wasn’t exactly enticing by anyone’s standards. But this created a further lack of topics for John to talk about, his previous anxieties failing to relax.

Shaune on the other hand had a good amount going for him in life. He had a job and many hobbies and friends, John just couldn’t keep up. He had far more to talk about, and John felt so worried about how little he contributed to the conversation that he ended up unable to pay attention to what was being said. 

They ate and spoke where they could, and at the end of the night, they nodded their goodbyes. Later that night, John went to send a message, apologizing for his poor manners only to find that Shaune no longer existed on the app. Had he been blocked?

It was a terrible first start. He reasoned with himself, ‘The first few relationships never last...maybe this is like...starting from the beginning again.’

As demoralizing as it was, it was only a start, and John refused to lose hope just yet.

~

Despite the date going poorly, it helped John to realize that dating would not be impossible. He gained the courage to ask others out, and while many of them were uninterested in anything serious, or uninterested in John, he had managed to talk a couple more men into meeting him through the week.

He used his laptop to look up how to properly date another man and how to keep up conversation. Many of the articles that google supplied him were nonsensical and made his head spin. John gave up this venture, telling himself that it’d be easier to find someone he just clicked with, and why go to the trouble of forcing something to happen when it should come naturally?

It was 6am that Sunday morning that his phone began vibrating repeatedly. John was hoping for a message and was disappointed by the repeated sound. He did not recognize the number, so he allowed his voicemail to get it. Who called this early anyway?

When the same number called back immediately with no voice message, he picked up, understanding that it wasn’t something he could put off until later.

“Hello?”

“Daddy!”

John sat bolt upright on his couch, his heart racing. “Rosie? What’s wrong? Sweetie, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Rosie said. A few seconds passed with near silence, the sound of crinkling and chewing coming from the other end.

“...Are you having breakfast?”

“Ya!” came the screeched reply, thankfully far from the phone’s transmitter. A chattering came from the other end.

“Honey, you have to put the phone closer to your mouth, I can’t hear you,” John chuckled, his heart still in disarray.

“Sorryyyyy,” she said more clearly into the phone through a mouthful of food.

“That’s okay. Rosie, is something wrong? Do you need anything?”

“Nope!”

John could feel a distressed laugh bubbling up in his chest. “Well, that’s good. May I ask then, why are you calling?”

The sound of shifting came from the receiver, John could imagine that the young girl had flopped down into some furniture. At least she was as full of energy as ever.

“I miss you, daddy…” she replied. 

“I miss you, too, sweetie, but you should be asleep! I promise I’ll be around to see you next week, okay?”

“Well…” Rosie began, but was cut off by a deeper voice in the distance. John sighed, it was likely David.

“Okay! Daddy, here’s David!” John smiled as the phone shifted hands. It gave him a spark of pride to hear the minor disrespect for her real father. That would keep him going all week!

“Hey John, it’s David.”

“Hey.”

“Toria and I are taking Rosie on a little vacation next week, so if you drop by, we won’t be here.”

John glared into the distance. “Where are you going? And why would you schedule it when I’m meant to visi-”

“We’re going out to an amusement park. The one with a mouse for a mascot and his other little animal frien-”

David was cut off by Rosie’s shrieking, his attempt at disguising where they were going from Rosie failing utterly. As furious as John was that this was being planned during his biweekly visit, he did not envy the idea of taking a very young child to an amusement park. 

A minute passed before a clear voice returned to the phone. “Daddy, I wish you could come with…”

“I do, too, honey, “ John lied to her. “But I hope you enjoy yourself!”

The phone was passed again, David’s exasperated voice coming from the other end, “Hey John, we’ll be a little busy the next few weeks. We’ll see you again on the 8th, alright?”

“Right.”

Rosie and David hung up and John sighed. His already incredibly sparse schedule this month just became a bit sparser. Staring at his phone, he found yet another grindr notification, as well as a text from Sherlock.

He opted to check the text. Only a few months ago he had been complaining about how the two rarely kept contact anymore, but with the current case, his friend had messaged and called and appeared far more frequently in his life. With how very little John had to do this coming week, it was only right that he helped him out where he could. Deep down, it felt good to be needed by someone.

“Decapitated bodies finally washed up on the Thames. DNA is a match. Still figuring out WHERE they were murdered. - SH”

John didn’t bother to reply. He hadn’t exactly kept up on the details, and he knew he wouldn’t be any real use (as usual), but he did know that Sherlock preferred to have him at his side. 

~

John drove up to 221 Baker Street. It wasn’t often he came by anymore. Sherlock always elected to meet John wherever he was, and John rarely sought Sherlock’s company of his own accord these days. If he needed him, he would arrive, as simple as that. He looked up at the building. He had lived there for nearly two years, but just its face pulled at his heart. It was hard to leave it, but it had been necessary to preserve what little sanity he had left.

Getting out of his car, he walked up the steps and knocked on the door. No response came, so he allowed himself inside. Mrs. Hudson must have been out, which is just as well, for she would have had his head for not keeping in contact with her.

He did miss the older woman. It was just difficult for him to be close to so many people with connections to Sherlock, when he himself had so little time with the man himself. That and he just didn’t care too much to listen to the lady’s rambling. As lonely as he was, pretending to care about this or that neighbor making noise or Mrs. Turner’s visits was not what he considered to be a worthwhile activity.

He glanced at her door before trudging up the steps to 221B. It was nice to live somewhere without stairs, his joints could hardly take it. No wonder Mrs. Hudson relied on her “herbal” medicine. 

He stretched himself as he walked into the flat, his spine creaking louder than the boards beneath his feet. 

As per usual, the living room was dimly lit, a light haze of dust - or god forbid, smoke - hung in the air. He sniffed, then sneezed into his arm. Dust. Good.

Looking around, John didn’t see a trace of Sherlock. He wandered the room, gazing over the notes and new knick-knacks littering every available surface. The coffee table could hardly be seen beneath the many tea cups and mugs covering it. He reached down to grab a couple - ever ready to clean up Sherlock’s mess - when a monotone voice shouted from the kitchen.

“DON’T...touch...any of those…”

John rolled his eyes, then followed the sound of the voice. He saw Sherlock at the kitchen table hunched over a microscope. He was dressed in his silk pajamas, the same ones he favored heavily in their early days together, and his eyes squinted into the eye piece before him. 

“Do I even want to know what’s in them?”

Sherlock huffed, then stood from his position, his robe seeming to billow behind him as he made his way toward John. He flashed a smirk at John before passing him and picked up a piece of tarp from the desk at the opposite wall. 

“Now that you’re finally willing to listen…” John rolled his eyes at this and crossed his arms, readying himself for Sherlock’s rant.

“The heads that were found in the warehouse were devoid of blood. The killer shucked them from their bodies in a very precise fashion, and it wasn’t done on cite. I’ve been able to gather from samples that the bodies had been lying on some weather proof material when their heads were removed. If I can narrow down the exact material, I may also discover who has made purchase of these materials within a certain radius of the dumping, further narrowing down our line of suspects.”

“And the bodies-”

“The bodies have washed up on the Thames earlier this morning and are currently being analyzed for any more clues. I’m hoping to head down to the morgue in just a few hours to take my piece once Scotland Yard is finished mangling the corpses.”

Sherlock steepled his fingers in a pause, then turned to face John, “I expect that you are looking to join me?”

John sighed, “Yeah, I’ll come along.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock replied before dashing to his room to get dressed. He didn’t bother to close the door, so John stepped over to the window, looking out to the street below.

His corner of London was far slower than his old home. Here, there seemed to be an infinite number of people, cars, lights rushing by. There was a vibrance to this end of the city. So full of life and excitement. His blood began to pump faster already. He missed it so.

Sherlock, now fully dressed, flew down the stairs without warning and John rushed to keep pace with him. By the time he made it back out the front door, Sherlock was already sitting in the passenger seat of John’s car.

John shook his head, got in with the detective, and took off down the road.

Sherlock continued to detail the case as John made his way to the morgue. John snapped at him more than once, blaming Sherlock for his making a wrong turn here and there, unable to concentrate on what he was saying as well as where he was going. Sherlock rolled his eyes at him and they bickered the rest of the way there.

When they did arrive, Sherlock charged into the small room of the morgue, John trailing slowly behind. It had been so long since he’d last been down here. There had been some renovation, which was slightly disorienting. It felt like stepping back into his old life, but, of course, many things had changed in that time.

Molly spoke to Sherlock shortly before settling her eyes on John. John could see the pitying look in her eyes and he tightened the scarf around his neck. Greg had pointed out how visibly thin his neck looked, and while it wasn’t quite cold enough outside to warrant a scarf, he preferred that no one witnessed his weakness.

He ignored her worried stare and followed Sherlock into the room.

As Sherlock scraped and prodded at the bodies, the details continued to flow. “I could find no relation to these two whatsoever. The average degree of relation for two strangers is roughly three people, but these two fell far from that average. This means that either the killer got lucky targeting two people completely at random or they had planned quite far ahead who they would be targeting, though I certainly wouldn’t give them enough credit for the latter just yet.”

John nodded along and watched Sherlock’s hands work. His mind wandered far from the subject at hand as his eyes roved over his friend.

Hours passed. When he was finished, Sherlock thanked Molly for her patience, which she mostly ignored, and the two left. Sitting in John’s car, Sherlock looked him in the eye. John could never pull away from his gaze when he did that, Sherlock’s heterochromatic eyes mesmerizingly bright from the streetlight just above them.

“Dinner?”

“Sure.” John kicked himself internally. He was hoping he could keep his fasting a secret from Sherlock. He thought he had been successful up until this point, but it didn’t upset him that he caught on as much as he thought it would.

John drove them to Angelo’s, seeing as it fit the rest of their day, having felt like revisiting a chapter of their life together. While it didn’t align with his tentative dietary plans, he was happy to have some good, filling food that didn’t make him feel like crap for once. 

“I appreciate your help today, John.”

John swallowed before replying, “You know I didn’t help. I hardly did anything.”

Sherlock stared at him, his expression unreadable. 

“You are...invaluable to me.”

John couldn’t respond. He did that on the rare occasion. A line or two that would disturb the balance, making John question where they stood with one another. Those were the last words they exchanged that night, before John dropped Sherlock off outside the flat and he took himself home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Just wanna say that I'm currently ahead in this fic so that I can release one chapter every Friday up to Christmas! It's a lot.  
> But I'm thinking I will release the next chapter later today or possibly tomorrow, because I've wanted to give you guys something extra for your interest in my dumb little idea here LMAO  
> Thank you guys so much <3

A week had gone by after the day he’d spent with Sherlock. In that time, he tried not to think too hard about it, as the time they spent together reignited something within him that he had not felt in many years - but in that time, he’d also managed to meet up with a couple of men he had met on grindr. 

The first date he had that week was with Damien, a man who was just two years older than him, but was very good looking for his age. His genes had certainly blessed him. They met up at a bar and had a few drinks together. He was interesting, and he was a great conversationalist, able to pick up where John could not. Damien invited John to a local heavy metal concert that Friday night, which he enjoyed despite it not being his typical music choice. He had come home deafened from standing far too close to the amps all night and bruised from the dancing crowd, but John could admit he had a good time. 

The only bump they’d experienced was when he dropped John off at home. Damien had leaned in close, closing his eyes, expecting a kiss, but John was unprepared to reciprocate. He had quickly removed himself from the car and bid Damien goodnight through the window. He made no comment on the dismissal, and they’d agreed to go out to dinner the coming Friday night. John looked forward to it.

He met two other men throughout the week, but they weren’t nearly as promising to John as Damien. Andrew had been incredibly meek, and hardly looked up from his phone to talk to John. The entire night was spent with John talking at him until Andrew paused to flip his phone around to show John a “meme.” He liked funny cat pictures as much as the next person, but this wasn’t what he was hoping to find.

Another man, Matthew, was a retired Royal Airforce pilot, and far too pretentious for John - which was honestly saying something considering he had put up with Sherlock for so many years. He was interesting enough, but he was very overtly uninterested in John, especially when he found out he had been in the army. Military branch rivalries were difficult to quash, John reasoned. He’d never personally cared, but didn’t mind being rid of Matthew.

He reflected on these dates one Thursday morning. If he was being realistic, the gay dating scene wasn’t remarkably different from the dates he’d been on with women. The thought was comforting, but also a bit saddening, as he’d hoped with all the dirty messages he’d received, he would be a little more successful in finding someone who was attracted to him and maybe wanted something more.

Overall, he couldn’t say it was going too terribly. He still worried about his physical appearance and what he brought to the table in a relationship - obviously the failed dates brought further attention to his failings - but it was not an overwhelming anxiety like it had been just a week ago.

It may have been anal of him to do so, but this morning he typed up some notes on how his dating journey was treating him, what he could do differently for the next one, what he did and did not want in a partner. Having the words physically written - well, virtually typed - in front of him helped to sort his thoughts. He didn’t dare post these thoughts to his blog. They remained in a word document that would hopefully never see the light of day.

His phone chimed, informing him that he had a text message. John picked up the phone to see that Hugo had invited him to his home for dinner that night. He took a deep breath. He’d told his old friend he was interested in hanging out again, meeting his husband, his kids, but in reality, the idea made John a bit nervous. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he texted back, agreeing to come over. It was for the best that he worked to maintain this friendship. He had so few friends already.

John scratched at his stubble. Throughout his shower, he contemplated shaving, but seeing as he’d joked about it last time, he decided on keeping it. Maybe a second opinion on his facial hair would ease his worries about its attractiveness. 

The drive to Hugo’s apartment was smooth, and he was grateful to see the family waving at him from their balcony as he pulled up. By the time John stepped out of his car, Hugo had made his way down, and was now walking up to him to give him a hug. If John lingered in the hold a second too long, Hugo made no acknowledgement to it. He guided him up the steps to his flat, introducing his family as John removed his jacket. 

“John, this is my husband, Ian, and these are my sons, Grynn and Barrett!”

John did his best to hold in his laughter, though his face contorted from the effort. The boys rolled their eyes while Hugo gave a quiet chuckle. John extended his hand to Ian first, then to each of the boys. “A pleasure to meet you all!”

They each offered their own greetings, but John was distracted by just how much Hugo’s husband stood out from the rest of the group. Hugo had always been lithe and tall and the twins took after him in that way, but Ian was quite stout and not as thoroughly impressive in appearance.

Hugo led John to the dining room table where they settled in next to each other and waited on Ian to put the finishing touches on dinner before taking Hugo’s opposite side and Grynn and Berrett taking the remaining seats. As they each served themselves, John couldn’t help the tingling sensation in his chest. It was different to be sitting at a table, eating together, as though he were a part of the family. 

He recalled how the last few years he’d spent with his own family - his parents and Harry - dinners were tense, but this tension wasn’t present here. Despite his anxiety telling him he was an intruder to this lovely meal, they all ate in peace, with the occasional conversation thrown in.

“So, John, how has your day been?” Ian prompted. It was funny that he seemed to be the talkative one of the table, though it wasn’t so surprising given Hugo had always been quiet. Another point of contrast between Ian and the rest of the family. For a moment he wondered if Hugo’s ex-wife fit more evenly into the set.

“Fairly uneventful. Just a bit of house cleaning, really.” 

“Really? Have you-” 

Before Ian could ask him about his job, Hugo cut in, “It’s good to get some cleaning in where you can. I noticed you’re growing your facial hair?”

John smiled. He wanted to bring it up, that’s why he kept it, but wasn’t sure if he should say it in front of the twins. “Ah yeah. We talked about it the other day. I didn’t want you to think I was a liar.”

“Well I think it makes you look handsome,” Hugo complimented.

“Oh yeah, it’s quite fine. I couldn’t grow one in evenly myself,” Ian joined in. 

“I’ve got hair growing in!” Berrett chimed in, to which Grynn responded, “One hair doesn’t make a beard…”

John laughed. 

Some moments passed before John started, “This is really lovely, who’s the cook?”

Hugo’s face wrinkled from smiling, “That would be Ian here. He’s actually the head chef at a restaurant downtown, and for good reason. He’s definitely a keeper in my book!”

Ian joked, “I’d hope that you would keep me even if I served you dog food!”

The two laughed at each other, the kids rolling their eyes. John could feel the love between all of them. Such a happy family...He added, “I could only be so lucky to find someone who would keep me with the absolute rubbish I produce!”

Ian grinned over at him, “Maybe I could give you some cooking lessons the next time you come over!”

John thought back to the hurt he’d felt realizing that his daughter hated his cooking. “Careful what you offer, I may have to take you up on that!”

When their meal was finished, Ian cleared the table and did the dishes while the boys got ready for bed. Hugo brought John out to the living room, both of them dropping themselves into the couch. John sunk in, the cushions being much softer than his own - which he noted from the ache in his shoulders, he had been sleeping on for quite a few days now.

Ian finished washing up and brought a bottle of wine and some glasses out before settling in his armchair. 

“Have you found any dates yet, John?” Hugo questioned. John nearly choked on his wine. He hadn’t expected his friend to get straight to that point.

“I’ve uh...I’ve been on a few dates since we last met up. Not many of them have been...fruitful. Although, tomorrow night I’ve got my third meeting with someone who I think it’s been going well with!”

“I would’ve thought you’d get more attention than that. You’re a fine man,” Hugo grinned. 

John’s eyes quickly glanced at Ian to gauge his reaction to his husband’s words. He was mildly relieved to find that the man made no indication of jealousy toward him. He then cleared his throat and replied, “Thanks. I also hoped for something more, but beggars can’t be choosers, yeah?”

Hugo and Ian met eyes for a moment before Ian started, “You know, depending on what you were looking for, we wouldn’t mind having you around a little more…”

It took a full minute for John’s brain to piece the words together and interpret. When his mind caught up to what was being proffered, his eyes bulged and he nearly inhaled his drink. It felt as though his stomach was doing backflips as he tried to think of the correct way to answer.

“I….you’re, I mean that’s...uh, I-!”

Hugo howled in laughter at John’s fumbling. Ian beamed good-naturedly as the two sitting across from him turned red. 

Not wanting to be rude, John scrambled for an answer. “As...as much as I appreciate the offer….I’m kind of looking for something else!” John finally squeaked out.

Hugo’s outburst died down to a chuckle. “That’s alright, John. I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable. I truly treasure our rekindled friendship as it is!” 

“Though the offer still stands!” Ian pitched.

John took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine! I guess it just caught me off guard, is all!”

The exchange was once more laughed off, much to John’s relief. The evening went on, the conversation turning to more wholesome topics. John mentioned a book he had been reading recently, to which Ian chimed in with his thoughts on writing styles, bringing up the example of Hugo’s own writing, which the man himself brushed off. 

It grew later and later. John could feel the heaviness in his eyelids. As they made their goodbyes and goodnights on the doorstep, Hugo went in for a hug.

“Let me know how your date goes. If you need anything, you’ve got my number!”

“Thank you!”

As they pulled away, John looked to Ian. Should he shake his hand? Just nod?

The questions were answered when the slightly shorter man grappled him into a firm hug. “I was serious about those cooking lessons if you ever wanted them!”

John slowly hugged back. “Thank you, I do really appreciate that.”

The drive back home was difficult with his tired eyes. The night was wonderful, but he was drained and ready to try for sleep. He would need it for his date tomorrow.

~

John sat alone at a table in a nice restaurant. He’d been sitting there for nearly forty-five minutes, waiting for Damien to show up. In that time, he had ordered a beer, downed it, ordered another, then was offered breadsticks by the waitstaff, which he’d accepted because the beers were quickly affecting him from his empty stomach. It created a burning imbalance inside him that did not aid the nausea arising from his anxiety.

Just as he was about to assume he had been stood up, he looked up to see his date had arrived. Relief washed over John as he waved and smiled at him, though his next panic was over what level of drunkenness he was currently sitting at.

It was clear enough to John that he was not drunk enough to loosen him up, as when Damien approached, the man immediately swung his face in close for a kiss, to which John reactively backed away from.

The look Damien gave John warned him that the night was already over. His eyes shifted downward to avoid the painful stare.

“John, I’m sorry, this just isn’t working out.”

John hummed in reply.

Damien sighed. “I’m just...I’m looking for someone I can really be with. I know you don’t have much experience being with men…”

John nodded for him to continue.

“...I just want someone who already has themselves figured out. I don’t...have the time in my life to help you with this…”

It hurt to hear, but John nodded once more. He hadn’t realized how obvious he’d been about his discomfort, but it made sense. He didn’t expect anyone to fix him, though John thought he’d already figured it all out.

Damien pulled out his wallet and dropped a few notes on the table. “I’m really sorry, John. Good night.”

“Good night.”

As the man left, John flagged down a waiter and asked what the strongest alcoholic beverages they had were, deciding on a whiskey. He fucking hated whiskey, but he would hate breaking down in public far more, and the tears were already flooding his eyes.

He patted his eyes dry with a napkin before taking a sip of his drink, grimacing at the burn and coughing a bit after swallowing. 

“Date didn’t go well, I take it?”

John didn’t bother to move an inch. His eyes were glued to the table as the seat across from him became occupied. John took another pull of his drink.

“Come with me tonight? I’m sure it’ll take your mind off of things…”

John locked eyes with Sherlock. Maybe it was the drink, or the lighting, but his eyes appeared both vibrant and fiery in their hazel hue. John was losing his focus, his eyes trailing across his friend’s face, his brow, his nose, his lips. 

“I’m sure it would,” John slurred.

Sherlock sighed, handing John a glass of water and tearing a breadstick to pieces, shoving a bit into John’s loosened maw. 

“Sober up, the cab’s waiting for us.”

John chewed, swallowed, and pounded down the glass of water, then allowed Sherlock to drag him by the wrist out of the restaurant. They bickered lightly as they piled into the cab, Sherlock pausing to bark out an address at the driver. John leaned his head back on the headrest as Sherlock prattled on about the case. John rolled his eyes. No getting out of it this time, he supposed.

The cab dropped them off on a dark street in a block of warehouses. John stared off into the distant lights of the city, wondering why he always allowed himself to be pulled into these situations. 

He followed, watching as Sherlock bent a chain link fence back. Sherlock stepped through, holding it open for John to pass through as well. 

John leaned himself against the brick wall of the building while Sherlock picked the lock. He could have laughed. Why did he still go along with these investigations? They’d only ever brought him trouble. They are why his wife is dead, why Rosie was taken from him, why his life was chaos. Was avoiding a boring existence worth all of this?

Sherlock swung the doors open, urging John inside. 

“Why are we even doing this?”

“You know, John, you could be a little less transparent about not paying attention to me. I told you on the way here! There is a criminal ring rising-”

“Not what I meant.”

Sherlock huffed at him, then continued inside. ‘I should’ve known better than to expect an answer,’ John thought.

His thoughts were cut off at the sight of a body deeper inside the building. John rushed to check it out, Sherlock trailing slowly behind him. 

“Don’t worry, they’re already dead,” Sherlock told him.

John slowed his pace, disappointed. He wasn’t a coroner, he didn’t exactly take joy in handling the dead. Either way, he bent down beside the cold body, ready to examine it.

“Lestrade should be on his way, so let’s make this quick.”

John leveled him with a look. “How did you know where to-”

“If you had been PAYING ATTENTION, you would understand that…”

John shook his head, anger rising. “If you paid attention to me for one goddamned second you would understand that I don’t care to be a part of this anymore, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glared. “You know you love this. You’ve always loved this! Isn’t this far more entertaining than any of your petty little dates?” John growled, cut off once more by Sherlock. “Besides! This is important! Don’t you want to help people?”

“I’ve done my best trying to help others all my life! And look where that’s got me! I’m not even sure I ever truly helped anyone to begin with…”

Sherlock stared down at John, who was still kneeling beside the body. He took a few steps toward him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “This is important to ME. PLEASE. Can you do this for me?”

The moonlight pouring in through the windows painted a glow across the detective, giving his curls and eyes a reflective and haunting quality. John swallowed hard. “I don’t think that I can.”

Sherlock continued his unreadable stare as the sound of sirens and the flashing of lights approached. When it became apparent that the full force had arrived, Sherlock turned on his heel and exited the building.

John winced as he pushed himself from his position and followed. He watched from afar as Lestrade gave Sherlock a quick interrogation before the younger man stormed off. John could feel himself dissociating as a few officers ran past him and into the building. 

He felt ill, as though he would faint. When his eyes opened, he came face to face with the head detective.

“I thought you didn’t want any part of this?” His friend joked.

John shook his head. “I don’t.”

Greg frowned at him. “Do you need a ride home? I could call up a cab for you, if you need.”

John shook his head again. He didn’t know what he needed.

He started to walk off when a hand hooked into the crook of his arm and gently held him back. “Should I stop by your place later?”

John shrugged. “Do what you like.”

He nonchalantly left the scene, walking his way back to a mainroad. 

Why was it, John wondered, that he so deeply feared the idea of being useless, and yet did nothing to remedy that fear? He already had nothing else, why couldn’t he just brush aside his slim hopes of finding love in order to help his friend?

He didn’t do anything in his current life. He quit his job, his daughter had a new family, he hardly had any friends. It was only a matter of time before his body broke down from age. Then what would he have? 

Perhaps it was just due to how difficult it was to be around the man. There was just too much history between the two. Misunderstandings, a lack of communication, mixed signals. Fixing those issues at this point seemed impossible, especially the way they were. 

John wiped the tears flowing down his face on the sleeve of his jacket. Sherlock used to be the most important thing in his life. When he was gone, he would’ve promised away anything to have him back. Now he was here, he had time, and he couldn’t force himself to be around him. They’d both made mistakes. John worried this was the end.

He stepped out of a cab - that he couldn’t remember waving down or riding - and made his way into his home. Its warm air was stagnant and suffocating, the silence deafening, and its cleaned state reminded him of how he hoped to bring Damien home with him tonight. So much for that.

John looked to the spot on his couch where he has been living the past few weeks, instead making his way to a chair in his kitchen. He slouched with his arms outstretched across the table, unable to climb out of the hole that his thoughts had dug him. 

How, after all these years, did Sherlock still have so much sway over him? He was an adult, very well into his life. Why did he still fall into the allure of another adventure, running off with the detective at a moment’s notice? What about the detective made it so easy to look past all the ways they have hurt each other and to think that Sherlock could offer some reprieve from his turmoil?

Eventually, Greg fulfilled his promise to drop by. It was only a few hours into Saturday that the older man let himself in. It was a relief to see John, in his home, which was well lit and neat, sitting like a civilized and well adjusted human, as opposed to drunkenly slumped over on the floor. Despite this, he could tell - from the fact that he was still awake and had not jolted at his presence - that whatever had bothered him into a listless disposition at the crime scene was still bothering him now.

Ambling to the kitchen to join John, Greg stood for a moment before inviting himself to sit down. He had no idea where John was at now, mentally. He seemed to be doing much better than when he had found him a month ago, but what did he know? He didn’t exactly keep tabs on him. Greg decided it was better to sit and wait for when John was ready to talk.

“I don’t know why I bother,” John started. Greg made a lightly frustrated face and was ready to speak when John clarified, “I don’t know why I bother with Sherlock.”

Greg shut his mouth and smirked. He’d had the exact same thought plenty of times. The only confusing part was why John chose now to ponder this.

“He’s a prick, alright, but what would we do without him?”

John frowned further. ‘Maybe that wasn’t it,’ thought Greg.

Greg tried again, “I mean, he’s certainly put you through more than he has with me. But that’s...your business…”

Greg watched as John worked his jaw, contemplating his response. Why he’d promised to check in on John once the investigation was complete, he couldn’t explain, as now he was tired, it was 3am, and all he wanted was to go home and sleep.

John blew out a sigh and resumed his thoughts. Greg did his best to keep his eyes open. Maybe he wasn’t in the proper condition to be handling this right now.

“That’s just it...why do I keep on with it?”

Greg looked at him, his expression sympathetic, but exhausted. He voiced his opinion out loud, though he instantly regretted it, “It’s because you love him, John.”

Though the immediate wave of regret hit him, the repercussion never came. In fact, John didn’t even flinch or bat an eye at the statement. All he could see was the misery in his eyes.

“Maybe you’re right…” he whispered, still never looking up from the table between them.

Greg pursed his lips, the atmosphere never letting up. He was definitely too worn down by the day for this right now.

John continued his silent slump for what felt like an eternity. Greg cleared his throat.

“Are you going to be alright?” 

John was not unaware of the implied, “...if I left,” and nodded. His friend got up and went home, but John remained.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few important notes:  
> 1\. This is the second chapter I'm releasing this week, so if you didn't read Ch.9 please do so!  
> 2\. This fic incorporates Tolkien characters using the character's actor name + tolkien character last name (or adjacent) (Hugo is Elrond, Ian is older Bilbo, etc etc.)  
> 3\. ......It's all uphill from here! Everything will have a resolution, I promise.
> 
> Thank you guys so much!

John woke from a dream he could not remember, but the pleasantly warm sensation it left him feeling had lingered throughout his morning routine. 

It was an odd way to start the morning after yesterday evening, but he wouldn’t complain. He was similarly surprised to find that he made it into his bed. The extra space in it had rubbed in his recent loneliness, but it had failed to hit him that night. John got up and put the kettle on. The pressure on his chest from last night had not lifted, but he was functioning, and that was all he could ask for.

Of course, since he must have dozed off early into Saturday morning, it was already past noon by the time he woke up and moved himself to the couch with his book and a cup of tea. 

He had difficulty focusing on the words printed on the page in front of him. Every one brought to mind the detective he had rowed with the night previous. John shut the book and turned the tv on. Local news broadcasted the development of the string of murders being investigated by Scotland Yard. John shut the tv off.

Since all external stimulus had conspired against him ignoring last night’s events, John let himself think upon it, his mind now at ease, his perspective less clouded by the emotions he had rolled through - as well as the lingering alcohol.

His reflection began with the words he had exchanged with the head detective. Greg - and everyone else in his life for that matter - had always been quick to link John and Sherlock’s interactions to some form of infatuation or lust. Those whom John knew to have been close to the man for years certainly believed it. Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg claimed to see it. Even Molly, The Woman, and various others who knew the detective claimed to have seen it, why would they all be wrong? There had been a point where John had believed it himself, that Sherlock may have had some interest in him. This always came in short-lived bursts, but they were strong, and their memory lingered.

John had, in the past, told himself that he knew better: that he was the only one who knew the real Sherlock. People liked to think they had gotten through to the detective, but the only one he truly let in was John. 

But he had believed this lie for too long already. Upon Sherlock’s return from death, John realized that he knew nothing about the man. John wasn’t sure that anyone understood him at all, and that it was a lost cause. He stopped trying to piece him together in order to create a real life for himself, one that was sustainable, and did not allow him to be hurt in the ways his acquaintance with Sherlock had hurt him.

How well that turned out…

John was back to square one, late into his life, and his understanding of the world around him was still flimsy at best. He couldn’t hold down a job, a stable relationship, or a child. Hell, he could hardly take care of himself! Even so, Sherlock still extended his hand to him, asking him to take it. Despite all of John’s failings, Sherlock always came back to him.

They argued, they fought, and became physically violent with one another at times, sure. But they always managed to look past it and maintain their friendship, even if one or the other was greatly in the wrong, and even if an apology was only implied.

Deep down, they cared about each other, but John wondered if this was indicative of more than just friendly feelings. He didn’t know how he felt about the man now, but if John was being honest with himself, there were many times where, if Sherlock had proposed the opportunity to go beyond their friendship, he would have obliged. Years ago, the idea would have terrified him, no matter how unlikely it seemed, but maybe it wasn't as unlikely as he had convinced himself it was.

John thought briefly of The Woman, Irene. She was still alive somewhere, and Sherlock had known. Did he ever reply to her texts? Was there something more between them? Did Sherlock resent him for lying about her passing, even if it was an attempt to protect his heart?

It was hard to read the man’s heart. Or was it?

He recalled the events around his wedding to Mary. Looking back, Sherlock had been quite frazzled and stressed, going to great - and often unnecessary - lengths to perfect the ceremony. Cases had been put on hold in order for Sherlock to teach himself to fold napkins for Christ’s sake! While the stag was a bit regimented for John’s tastes, the rest of it had been perfect.

His recollection slowed when he remembered Sherlock’s speech. John had been thoroughly touched by his words and had held the moment close to his heart. It was the only time in their acquaintance that he got to listen to what Sherlock thought of him. Could the sentiments have been faked? Sure, the man could lie. He lied about a great many things, but John could tell these words were genuine. John had broken down and pulled him into a hug after the overwhelming speech - which read far more like a love letter than a best man speech - the declaration of Sherlock’s feelings burying the lines of Mary’s love for John.

Mary’s love was questionable at best, as the rest of her identity had been a lie.

Sherlock, however, could not fake a love if someone’s life depended on it. John knew, as he’d witnessed it first hand. At the wedding, when he’d held Sherlock in his arms mid-way through his speech, John felt him tense at the contact. Sherlock was surprised and confused by the action, assuming he’d done something wrong.

John laid back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. 

Yes. Sherlock did wrong sometimes. He’d lied, manipulated, drugged, stolen from, taken advantage of, hit, and insulted John on many occasions. But...maybe it was all a cover up for the feelings he held for John that he could not act on. 

He was free now. They were free to do as they will.

‘How do I feel…?’ John asked himself. John had largely ignored his feelings for Sherlock when the detective returned. He thought it would be for the best, as he had a girlfriend he was prepared to propose to, then he was married and had a child on the way. The rest of his life seemed set and done. 

He stuttered an inhale. The future was wide open to him. It could work...he was still working on being comfortable dating men...but he’d known and loved Sherlock for years…he could do this.

There was, however, the matter of The Woman. Irene was out there somewhere, he knew that much, and so did Sherlock. It was never resolved how he truly felt about her, but Sherlock did keep her ringtone, and she continued to text him on holidays...did that ruin his chances? When John thought about her, he felt as though he’d already lost. The despair he went through in their time with her had sent him spiraling. It was likely one of the first times John had looked more closely at his feelings for Sherlock. He had stopped dating, had lost interest in people who weren’t Sherlock.

No. If he had a chance, he had to take it!

John was certain of his feelings. The man had broken through his initial trust issues within minutes of knowing him. John had quite literally pledged his life to Sherlock on multiple occasions. How could he have been so blind?

They needed to talk.

John jumped up with dizzying quickness. If he were to give this idea another moment’s thought, he feared that he would talk himself out of it, as he’d done so many times before. He grabbed his wallet and phone, and he almost made his way out the door when he recalled what Sherlock had once told him: something along the lines of “preferring his men clean shaven.”

Turning one eighty to run to the bathroom, he made quick work of ridding himself of his facial hair before rushing out the door and skipping out to a main road to wave down a cab.The dissociation had been a bad combination with his driving, and his current jitter would make the task impossible without getting himself or someone else killed, he reasoned. 

He jumped into the first cab, and with a short greeting and a quick mumble of “Baker Street,” he was on his way. John spent the short ride in his head, thinking up how he would explain his epiphany to Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock already knew about John’s feelings. Maybe he’d known for years and was just waiting for John to figure it out! The image of Sherlock’s face falling, as well as his retreating form the night of his wedding flashed into John’s mind. It was all so obvious! How had he never caught on!

John worried his lip between his teeth. The speedbumps and turns jostled him and the lights of London were disorientingly bright against the thick black of night.

Before he knew it, John was walking up the steps to their building. How many nights had he spent under its roof, refusing to acknowledge or voice the feelings he held for his friend? How many nights of his life had he wasted, sleeping or attempting to sleep with anyone else?

He hit the knocker against the large door and smiled genuinely when Mrs. Hudson poked her head out. “Ah! John Watson!” she began jovially, which quickly turned to a tone of mothering worry, “You haven’t called me in so long! Hardly anyone has heard from you in weeks! It isn’t right! And I can tell that Sherlock has been worrying his head off without you around, he’s been-!”

“I’m actually here to see him now, Mrs. Hudson. It’s very important that I talk to him right away,” John said as he laid a hand on her shoulder and wandered in, his attention fully on the lamplight coming from the top of the stairs ahead of him.

Mrs. Hudson continued her ranting just behind him as he made his way upstairs. He couldn’t focus on any of it. All he could do was sort the last of his thoughts before he made his confession.

The squeak of the steps sent his heart beating rapidly. This was his home. His true home. He’d always been meant to live here, with Sherlock, with Mrs. Hudson, occasional visits from their friends, from Sherlock’s parents, from Mycroft. This was his family. How silly he was to think he could ever replace a single one of them!

At the top of the stairs he came face to face with the door to their living room, ajar, light pouring out from behind it. He gulped and took a deep breath before he moved himself through it.

Upon entry, his eyes flew to Sherlock, who was seated on the sofa, hunched over his joined hands, his lids shut tight in concentration. John smiled at him. This is what he knew. He wasn’t out of his depths here, he wasn’t nervous here, and even after everything John had fucked up, Sherlock still loved him.

He took the sight in with more detail, trailing his gaze around the halo of curls, angular porcelain face, his blue silk pajamas, spidery fingers, the arch of his back. John shook his head, the smile he bore only growing.

John walked further inside, his steps light. “Hello, Sherlock,” he greeted.

Sherlock grunted in reply, but John had hardly expected that much considering the last they saw each other hadn’t ended well, so it was a good sign overall.

“I wanted to talk to you…” John started. Sherlock made no acknowledgement this time, but John continued, undeterred, “It’s very important to me.”

Sherlock grunted again, now opening his eyes and pulling out his phone. John licked his lips and came closer. Feeling that sitting beside him on the sofa would be too familiar, he sat himself on the coffee table, directly in front of Sherlock, a fair few feet away from him. He readied himself, leaned forward, and then began:

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I never realized just how much you cared about me. For years I’ve misinterpreted your care as cruelty. I thought that you were just taking the piss out of me, that you needed a punching bag, or someone to follow you around and admire you…

I understand that you work differently, that you see things differently. As your best friend, I should have seen through that. I used to think that I knew you better than anyone else, but maybe I didn’t. I see that now.

You’ve done so much, with the sole purpose of taking care of me. Maybe you took the hard way, indirect methods, or these plans didn’t always work out in your favor. I know I’ve blown up on you before. I know I’ve apologized and that you have accepted those apologies, but this is about more than that. Sherlock…

Sherlock, I’ve cared for you since the moment I met you. Many of the ways I showed you this were...instinctual. I didn’t think about what I was doing, I just did it. I’ve killed, put myself in harm’s way, HELL I’ve even agreed to die by your side before I even knew to look at my actions in a deeper context. 

Why would I do all that I have done for you if I simply thought of you as a friend? I thought it was a fascination or that I’d idolized you, but that wasn’t it either.

I did realize eventually, what it truly was, but I couldn’t admit it, not even to myself. I ignored it. It was difficult, but I did it.

When you faked your death, it was the end of my world. I could hardly function. I learned to get back up again, but it took the majority of those years you were gone. I didn’t feel truly alive again until you came back. As mad as I was with you, more than anything, I…

...I guess I feared having to confront those feelings again. Even then, I hadn’t fully come to terms with it…

I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. And I think I’m ready to admit it. To both of us.

…

Sherlock...I love you.”

John had pushed his final thought out past his lips despite his lungs being devoid of air. The next few moments were filled with silence, and John wondered if he had said it loud enough, or if he needed to clarify. He continued.

“...More than just a friend. More than a best friend...I’m in love with you, Sherlock!”

Silence continued as Sherlock rapidly tapped away on his phone. The incessant noise and lack of reaction began to bother John, his previously optimistic mood quickly turning to annoyance.

“Sherlock...are you listening?” 

John received a grunt in response. John shook his head in disbelief. He’d poured his heart out to the man and he refused to listen! John stared into Sherlock’s face, his expression betraying nothing as his eyes glowed from the light of his phone. Eventually, John’s body acted on its own, lifting itself further forward and grabbing a hold on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock finally looked up, eyes wide in shock. 

John leaned in further to press his lips against Sherlock’s. John’s eyes shut and his hand wandered from a warm cheek to the soft, curly hair at the nape of Sherlock’s neck. It felt like a blissful eternity until he realized he wasn’t being kissed back. His heart constricted and his stomach dropped. Had he misinterpreted yet again?

The moment John pulled away, Sherlock had risen to his full height and John rushed to follow. “Sherlock, wait, I-” was all he managed to get out before a solid fist collided with his face, sending him flying over the coffee table.The thin walls of his heart shattered at the contact of Sherlock's fist against his cheek. It wasn't an unfamiliar contact, and at present, it was his lifeline to reality. His world was crumbling to pieces. 

John lived a long life, longer than he'd ever thought or planned that he would. He lived on borrowed time. In the heights of his depression and the lows of his traumas, he never dreamt that the killing blow would come from the man he loved most in this world. In the background he could hear the whirlwind of Mrs. Hudson’s horrified yelp, the table and its contents spilling to the floor, and the slam and locking of a door. His own shout added to the mix as he landed on the decorative fruit dish, the metal rods of it digging into his spine as he hit the ground.

He laid there for a moment, mortified, trying to collect himself. How many mistakes could one make in a single lifetime? Maybe all that he’d just said had been a lie. Maybe he convinced himself that there was something between them in an attempt to continue in such a failed existence. His entire being gave up.

John opened his eyes, and the world continued to exist around him. Mrs. Hudson was over him, an ice pack in her hand, her tittering falling on deaf ears. He slowly brought himself back to his feet, disregarding the pain exploding through his face. 

After brushing the remains of a few shattered mugs from his hands, he took Mrs. Hudson by the shoulder and looked into her eyes. “It’s alright, Mrs. Hudson. Good night.”

Mrs. Hudson yelled to him from the stairway as he stepped back out onto the pavement. Back to his feet, he continued, dream-like. He passed through, made of matter, taking up space, affecting the world around him in miniscule waves. 

When his feet finally met the pavement, reality crashed back into him, throwing him into a white hot rage. He couldn't be sure what fluid trickled down his face, nor did it matter. The feather light touch of it irritated him further. John smacked it away with the back of his hand.

He loosened his collar, now suffocating. The crisp, night air once reassuring, became poison in his lungs, burning, unpleasant.

His legs took control as his mind drifted far away from him. By the time he had reached the corner of Baker Street, he grunted and nearly fell to the ground from the pain that shot through his leg. People around him stared at him as he forced himself back to full height and continued onward. 

He went on and on for what felt like hours. The longer he continued to walk, the more the pain intensified. His mind regained function, sending him directly into a fury. Was he really just a joke to the man? Had he simply been taken advantage of the entire length of their friendship? Were they ever really friends to begin with? How deluded had he been…?

His aimless stumbling led him to a bridge. Where? He neither recognized or cared. The winter fog caressing his fuming face, the rush of the cold waters below distracting him from the pounding of the blood in his ears.

John reached out to the railing, biting to the touch, but the chill managed to ground him somewhat. He looked out beyond the horizon. The ache in his heart spread throughout his body, as those dangerous thoughts he’d been suppressing for years resurfaced. John looked down, far down, to the waters below him. As he stared, he willed himself to go forth, to take that action he’d spent so much energy on tamping down.

The lapping waves flooded his vision, bringing with it flashes of a moment where he had been left to drown. Where the one he loved most in the world once again ran off in the opposite direction when he needed him most.

The longer he stared, the more the ache in his chest spread to his gut and then his head. The adrenaline drained from his body and his knees buckled. He berated himself, that it was not bravery that kept him away from doing it, but his own weakness.

His body, seconds ago running white hot, now felt like ice. His stomach convulsed and he forced himself back into breathing to keep what little contents were in him in place, an anxiety attack was quickly on its way.

Before the tears could fall from his eyes, a faint gust of warm air and the sound of laughter graced his being. John snapped instantly away from the previous moment, watching as a happy couple quickly fled from a cozy looking pub. 

John looked on at them in longing for a moment, before turning back to the pub that the figures were retreating from. ‘A drink,’ he told himself. ‘A drink or two will help to loosen me up…’

He shuffled over on unsteady legs to the heavy wooden door of the pub, swinging it open with more force than necessary, thanking the gods he’d not slammed it open, in fear that he may bring any more attention to himself than he must have already. 

He dutifully ignored the way that a few of the patron’s heads spun around to check him out, keeping his eyes straight ahead to a barstool at the counter, opposite the end of the counter’s only other customer.

John flopped down hard onto the stool, taking a deep breath and keeping his head turned down until the barkeep finished his conversation with the person across from him.

The burly man behind the counter slowly made his way toward him, trying to gauge him discreetly, but ultimately failing, causing John to shrink a little further in on himself.

Seeing that John wasn’t here to cause trouble, he opened up with a, “What can I get for ya?”

“Whiskey,” John replied, then interrupted before the man could offer specifics, “the best you have.”

The bald, muscled man shrugged and retreated to a back room to fetch his order after sending a quick glance to his friend, who was still sat at the counter’s opposite end, his body almost fully turned toward John now. John assumed the man was security perhaps, but something still burning in him raged against the idea of someone trying to intimidate him. He raised himself to his full, sitting height, propping his elbows on the counter and peering into the mirror fixed to the wall behind the bar.

He watched as heads turned this way and that, stares and whispers almost certainly pointed at himself. John hadn’t realized just how out of place he must have been until his eyes landed on himself, his nose gushing blood down and off of his chin and onto his shirt, his right eye becoming swollen. That punch had done more damage than he had given himself time to care about, and now he was sitting in a bar, all alone, looking endlessly pathetic with his beaten face.

John swallowed down a whimper, which almost turned into a shout when another body settled in the stool just beside him. His eyes - still focused on the mirror - turned slightly to check out who had invaded his space.

He recognized it as the form of the man who had previously been sitting across from him. ‘Of course security would be suspicious of me,’ John thought as he forced his gaze back to his own bloodied face.

“Here.” 

John fully turned his head toward the man beside him. His face was striking, from the icy blue of his tired eyes to the sharp line of his nose. Their matched gaze was broken when the man’s eyes slid down to his own extended hand. John’s head quickly dropped to follow his line of sight, finding a large, worn hand loosely holding a handkerchief. 

Finally understanding the offer, John rushed to end this contact. “Oh, no thanks, I wouldn’t want to mess up your-” he started, but the man had grabbed hold of John’s hand, placing the cloth into it. 

“I don’t mind,” the man told him nonchalantly, little idea of the memories the phrase awakened in John. The ache in his chest returned in full force, the tremor in his leg becoming far more noticeable. John silently cursed himself as he brought the fabric to his face. 

“Thanks mate, I appreciate it.” He didn’t really. He would have appreciated it more if this man had kindly fucked off and not brought further attention to his vulnerability, but it seemed this would not be the case.

“Had a rough night?” John suppressed the urge to roll his eyes or roughly turn away from the man beside him. Just on que, the bartender returned with a tumbler and a bottle of very expensive looking bourbon. As the burly bartender stalked off, John lowered the handkerchief from his face to his lap to make way for the glass, slamming back all that the bartender had poured him.

“It’s been just fine,” John replied. He looked up in time to see that handsome face give a sympathetic upward turn of lips to the countertop. John huffed under his breath. What a stupid question...

Within moments the alcohol hit him like a sack of bricks. Suddenly forced to recognize the fact that he’d eaten nothing since the breadsticks the other night, John groaned and swayed just a little. This was a bad idea, he reasoned. He needed to leave.

Gazing back into the mirror, John noted the sudden grimace on his companion’s face. It filled him with….something….to see that face contort in such a way, which encouraged him to ask for another couple of fingers. 

He sipped this time, the effects of gunning down the last glass already clearly going to his head.

“I’m Richard, by the way.” 

His deep voice reverberated in John’s head. Disengaging wouldn’t be an option then...

John took the introduction as an invitation to more openly observe the man, Richard. His facial hair was thick, but trimmed, framing that sharp face along with a cascade of dark hair, streaks of silver giving a better indication to the man’s age than his face. His ears were marred with piercings, almost more metal than skin. His leather jacket laid unzipped, the v-neck t-shirt beneath it giving a good view of his finely furred chest. His arms, completely covered by the jacket, but still looking quite thic-

Richard’s eyebrows raised in question, hinting to John that he’d been staring for far too long. When their eyes met again, the man gave him a confused smile.

“John. John Watson,” he attempted to save face, extending his clean, unbloodied hand to him. When it was received, he gave a hard, firm shake, to show off that he was not as pathetic and limp as he may have come off.

Richard gave a short nod, and a genuine, pure smile that reached his enchanting eyes. John now understood that Richard’s gaze was weighing as heavily on him now as John’s had on him just moments ago, the height advantage leaving John feeling like a specimen under a microscope. John felt his heart rate increase and attempted to extinguish it with a few more sips of his drink.

Returning the cloth to his still dripping nose, John noticed Richard’s expression returning to that of concern. “Graham!” he called over his shoulder. John stared as the bartender poked his bald, tattooed head around the corner. “Mind fetching a bag of ice?”

Graham disappeared behind the wall once more. Sensing that Richard planned on nursing him, John quickly felt both offended and panicked. He began to wave his free hand in front of him, signalling for this to end.

“Oh, please. That’s really not necessary, I was just-” 

“Here y’are.”

The pack of ice had been quickly dumped on the counter before John could back out. Richard grabbed it, nearly pressing it to John’s face before John took it from him, averting his gaze and giving a short nod and a mumbled “thanks.”

Richard gave a shy smile, turning toward his beer and sipping down the entire pint. John watched this for several moments (with his good eye), wondering why the man had come up to him at all. Why would such a good looking, kind man waste any moment of his time on this earth with John of all people? The man clearly didn’t know any better.

John took up his second whiskey, slamming back what remained. His body felt warm and relaxed, and he could feel a buzz forming. When Richard’s voice passed through his senses, it took a bit before he registered what he’d said.

“Are you going to be alright?”

John was left partially stunned. He’d expected to be asked what happened, to which he would NOT be responding to for the entertainment of a stranger! He kept SOME things private. But no, was he going to be alright?

He had to think about it honestly. It wasn’t his plan just half an hour ago. He’d come into this bar to get a drink to help him on his way over the barrier of a bridge. That idea hadn’t even crossed his mind since Richard asserted himself into his space just minutes ago. He took a deep breath and looked up into Richard’s eyes. Open, concerned, genuine. He had no reason to care about what happened to John, a stranger to him. 

Such an overt expression of caring for his well-being - coming from someone with no ties to him at all - was incredibly foreign. Hell, he truly didn’t have to narrow it down to a stranger to be baffled by the fact that this was happening. 

He shouldn’t trust this. The past decade of his life told him it would be outrageous to trust this. John “trust issues” Watson had thrown himself at the first interesting stranger he found to keep him away from a suicidal episode, and it had plunged him into years of heartache. Why should this be any different? 

He must have gone absent in his thoughts, because the next thing John knew, this stranger put a solid hand on his shoulder and spoke to him softly.

“Will you be alright when you go home? If you need somewhere to stay, I can help out”

The assumption confused John, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, no no, it’s nothing...quite like that. I…..thank you, but I’ve got somewhere to go. I’ll be fine.”

Richard sternly nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. Sorry, I should be on my way, it’s a bit late already,” he said, staring at the time on his phone.

John felt immediately disappointed. He hardly got to know this stranger, and a small part of him cursed himself for having turned down his offer. No, that would be taking advantage of the situation…

“Ah, yes, it is quite late,” John said with a nod.

He watched as Richard rose from his seat, his hand extended. “It was very nice to meet you, John.”

John shakily took his hand, less conscious of its force this time around. “Yeah, it was...”

“Take care.”

He gave John one more true smile, as well as a pat on the shoulder, before he waved to the man behind the bar and made his way out. John told himself to go after him, to catch up, to do something, anything, but instead he sat there, his body once again fully drained of energy. The bags under his eyes weighed like bricks, his body sore, his mind exhausted. Overall, however, he felt much better than he had. Maybe things weren’t better than they were at the beginning of this day, but maybe things would start to look up soon.

John paid his tab and stumbled out of the pub. The night air that had been biting previously now served to cool his overheated body. He’d not noticed how warm it was in there. As his head swam, he could feel his pulse in his face. John raised a hand to his cheek, the sensation almost burning hot. Maybe it wasn’t the pub…

He walked off, straining to recall the direction of his home, checking street signs as he passed, and wandering toward familiar buildings. It was a long walk back home, which gave John the time to think, to overthink, then to dismiss his thoughts, and come back around to overthinking again.

He did eventually find his home, shoving his key into the lock, stepping in and shutting it. It felt automatic, in a way it hadn’t felt in months. He removed his shoes and blinked to find that he had found his way into his bed.

His final thoughts before passing out revolved around how, just hours ago, he was ready to let go, to fully give up on life. But in the space of those hours, he felt an equilibrium had been reached; that there was a chance there was still something out there for him.

His sleep was uninterrupted and dreamless - a vast improvement from the renewed nightmares he’d been suffering, as far as he was concerned - and when he woke up, the feeling of balance remained. 

John did his best to convince himself it was the whiskey or the ambience of the little pub, but more convincing was the soiled lump he found in his pocket that morning, forcing him to confront the idea that his drinking companion....no, his compassion - had been responsible for this change. 

No matter what he attributed the change to, his heart called for him to revisit the pub at some point. The only issue was how he would revisit it, as when he had found it, he was deep in the throes of depression, and when he had left, he was deep in the throes of his cups. 

Of course, he was by no means cured. Hardly an hour passed in that early morning where his body did not jolt at the memory and phantom pain of being socked in the face by the man he was certain he loved. He did his best to bury those thoughts deep in favor of recalling the latter half of the night, which by extension became his current obsession.

‘Well,’ John resolved, ‘another night of aimless wandering may do some good. Yes, maybe that’s what did it...’ Worrying at the stitching of the blood-soaked fabric, he added, ‘...and it sure wouldn’t do to go stealing from strangers.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, wild week?????

It was Sunday, the night after a massive roller coaster of an evening. John walked around the streets of London, fingering the handkerchief in his pocket for comfort. 

He had been in a fog all day, his brain replaying last night’s events on repeat. It was impossible to decide what mood to be in, for his relationship with Sherlock felt permanently and irreparably damaged - though maybe it had been that way for years - but the excitement of seeing that man, Richard, again kept him in high spirits. His heart pounded just thinking about him. 

He continued his walk in relative peace, wandering around generally familiar sights. It wasn’t for another hour that he grew frustrated and pulled out his phone, looking up the pubs in the area. 

He could have slapped himself when his search brought up a notification that he had spent about 52 minutes at a pub the other evening, asking him to leave a review. The maps highlighted a trail for him to find the pub on foot, so he followed it.

His phone chimed, informing him that he had arrived, and he looked up. The doors were unmistakable, his shoulder still a bit sore from how hard he had to shove himself into it to get it open, but he took a moment to examine the rest of the establishment’s face. It was a wooden facade, giving the idea that it’s inside was cozy like a cabin. John could hardly recall the inside, as he hadn’t cared too much about his surroundings when he had entered. 

John took a deep breath before pushing the door open. The interior also contained wooden panels, though the seating looked cushy, and the lights were fairly dim.

He quickly made his way inside, taking strides further into the little pub as his eyes scanned every chair and booth for the long haired man. When he arrived at the bar’s counter without finding him, he took a seat, continuing to look around in hopes that his eyes just passed over him.

“What’cha lookin’ for, lad?” came a faintly familiar voice behind the counter. John turned to see the bartender, Graham, staring at him blankly. He swallowed.

“I’m, uh, looking for your...security guard, actually…” he managed to reply.

Graham snorted and shook his head. “Rich? He’s hardly security, he’s my cousin. And you won’t find him here tonight. What did you need him for?”

His hand tightened around the fabric in his pocket as John stared down at the counter in defeat. ‘Of course he wouldn’t be here…’

“I...wanted to thank him...and to return something to him.” He dug out the handkerchief, now washed and neatly folded, and held it out to Graham. “Would you be willing to-”

“He drops by every Saturday, around nine. You can give it to him then,” Graham interrupted before walking away into a backroom.

John stared down at the cloth still in his hand. At least his opportunity hadn’t been lost...Saturday at nine, he promised to come back.

~

A week left John a lot of time to continue this pattern of overthinking his situation. 

Sure, he’d received a few more grindr notifications, maybe some more invites to go to a cafe or restaurant and meet people, but the idea of dating was suddenly far less appealing.

John did his best to steer his thoughts clear of Sherlock, though as usual, this was a losing battle. To think everything had finally fallen into place...how much of an idiot could he be?

When he was not wallowing in self-pity over the event, his eyes gazed down to the handkerchief he had lying on the coffee table in front of him. ‘I should probably just throw it away, forget that night ever happened,’ John told himself, but then he would pick it up, twist and fold it absently in his hands, then place it back down, the grief blowing away instantly. 

His phone chimed with texts a few times that week. John hoped they were from Sherlock, some sort of apology or explanation or acknowledgement, hell, even if he simply ignored what had happened in favor of droning on about his stupid case...but instead the texts were images. David sent him a handful of pictures of Rosie enjoying herself on their vacation.

This served to both warm his heart and send him further into sorrow. No one really needed him around…

And yet he persisted. The destructively low mood he had been sent into had not returned. Yes, he had been down, he had been down throughout his life, but the specific suicidal ideation from that night had not returned in that week. If the thought occurred to him, his gaze would turn down, he would look upon the cloth, and be returned to his base state.

The stages of grief shuffled through his being on repeat until it was finally Saturday again, at which point the only feeling he experienced was panic.

The week passed and the opportunity to see the kind man and return his handkerchief presented itself to John, but in the space of several days, the memory of that evening had been recalled and distorted to oblivion and back, to the point where he wondered if he really remembered it correctly at all. ‘Was he really that nice? He probably just felt bad for me. What if I scare him off? Would he feel uncomfortable if I came back and talked to him more?’ 

His heart pounded in his chest and he made himself sick with worry, but John ultimately decided that he would still go. If the man seemed annoyed or otherwise upset to see him, he would leave, but he WOULD return his handkerchief to him.

John took a cab straight to the bar. He would have taken his own car if it wasn’t for the desperate hope that he would be staying and enjoying a pint or two with a certain someone, but he dreaded the event of that plan falling through.

At the conclusion of the cab ride, John looked down to the time on his phone: 8:53pm. He suddenly felt very ill. John could feel the blood drain from his face, his legs began to tremble, and he braced himself by leaning against the stone wall of the alley beside the bar. 

After a moment, he pushed himself back to full standing and paced the sidewalk. He argued back and forth whether he should turn around and go home when his hand grabbed a hold of the cloth in his pocket. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“John?”

The ill feeling he had just pushed past returned in full force. His head lifted and his eyes met those of the man he’d planned on visiting that night. John’s words were caught in his throat. He thought the man was fairly striking before, but the sharp contrast from the lights of the streetlamps and the shadows of the night splattered across his form, better showing the sharp features of his face.

John gulped and tried unsuccessfully to speak once more. Richard stepped in.

“Here for a drink?”

John paused, then nodded, “I suppose I am.”

Richard smirked and held the door to the pub open for him. “After you.”

John begged his legs to continue functioning as he made his way inside, taking the same barstool he had last time. It was greatly comforting when Richard took the seat next to him. ‘I don’t know how I haven’t scared him off already…’

At the thought, John straightened and dug into his pocket. He cleared his throat, willing his voice to return to him. “I...actually came by to return this...to you.”

Richard stared as John extended the handkerchief to him. He nodded and took it while John attempted to ignore the slight brush of fingers they shared. John noted that he didn’t seem altogether pleased to have it back, but pocketed it anyway. John felt the regret set in, wondering if he’d already fucked up.

“You’re still staying for a drink, right?” Richard asked, then added with a smirk, “Hopefully not whiskey this time…”

Though it was said tonelessly, John huffed a laugh. Just as he was about to reply, Graham walked by, passing Richard a pint of tar-like liquid. They nodded at each other, then Graham shifted his gaze to John and nodded to him as well. John squeaked out an embarrassed “hello.” 

“What about you, lad. What’re ya havin’?” 

John peered at his companion for a moment, then answered, “I’ll have what he’s having,” bobbing his head in Richard’s direction. The bartender nodded, his expression nearly unreadable beneath his facial hair - though John believed he saw a smirk - then he walked away. John rested his elbows on the counter and worried his lip between his teeth. He was incredibly tense when there was no reason to be, all he was doing was sitting down for a drink.

“Graham told me you came back here to look for me? Was it really just to return this?”

John stared at Rich from his peripheral vision. “I did, yes.” When Graham finally returned with his drink, John shot him a glare, to no effect.

John sipped the thick, dark beer. It was far more pleasant than he thought it would be, but it was still quite bitter. 

“I love a good stout,” Richard mentioned. 

John hummed into the glass, “It’s pretty nice…”

Silence stretched between them. John’s posture tightened. He really was no good with people.

“Would you mind if...I asked what happened?”

John’s face scrunched up at the question.

“You still don’t have to, of course,” Richard assured. 

Thinking on it, John realized that he was asking about that night a week ago. He wondered if the truth would bother the man beside him. Sure, he’d been kind and open so far, but in reality, he knew nothing about him. John wasn’t prepared for the potential of the man to ostracise him based on his sexuality - of which he still found difficult to accept in himself - so John compiled the events of that night into a more palatable story.

“Well...I’ve been going through some...stuff. It led me to realize that maybe...a friend of mine was….interested in something more with me. Turned out, that wasn’t the case…”

John looked to gauge Rich’s reaction, finding his gaze falling upon his hand.

“And they hit you for trying to cheat on your spouse?” he lightly interrogated, going back to his drink.

“What?” John gasped at the assumption, then realized where the assumption had come from. He STILL wore his wedding ring. If he wasn’t still filled with shame he would chuck the damn thing across the room.

“N-no. I’m single. I…” he motioned with his branded hand, “I’m uh...widowed.”

The most devastated, mortified look passed over Richard’s face at the admission. John felt he had scared the man, and quickly made to sweep it back under the rug.

“It’s fine, though! I’m fine! That was years ago now. It-it doesn’t matter, please just...don’t worry about it!”

Rich’s sad eyes stared into his. “Of course it matters. I’m so sorry, John. That was insensitive of me to point out, and I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what came over me.”

John was shocked to receive the apology, expecting the topic would be shrugged off. It came as a pleasant surprise, but he still felt responsible for putting him in the position.

“Don’t worry about it. It honestly doesn’t bother me much anymore,” John lied. In a way, it was the truth, but the full truth was long and complicated, and this could be the last time he saw the man anyway. Another lie by omission wouldn’t hurt.

He didn’t look convinced, but decided to drop it. John cursed himself for making Richard feel bad for him. He didn’t deserve the man’s niceties.

John couldn’t parse why, but Richard continued to search for a topic of conversation. 

“That seems quite harsh of your ‘friend’ to react that way…”

“Hmm....I suppose that’s just...how we are with each other. It’s fairly normal between us.” John rushed in to correct himself at the downtrodden expression of his companion, “It’s really not as bad as it seems! We just have a very...complicated...relationship…”

Richard pursed his lips and nodded, downing the rest of his drink. John hurried to catch up to him.

“Well, I’ve got the time tonight, if you wanted to make that a little more clear to me.”

John quit gulping down his drink to think about that. As much as he wanted Richard to see that he was a normal, sane individual, he couldn’t tell him about Sherlock, since he had no idea how the man would feel about his preferences. At the same time, he desperately wanted to stay and chat with the man more, no matter how poorly it was going. 

“Or we could discuss something else…” Rich reassured him.

John, not wanting to brush off his question, came up with the most succinct answer he could conjure. “My...relationship with them is...it’s the result of many years of...miscommunication, I believe…”

Rich bobbed his head, “Yeah, I can see why that would lead to such...issues…I’m sorry it’s come to that. For what it’s worth, I hope you two can work on that.”

John smirked at him. It was nice of him to say, but he really didn’t understand John’s situation. Maybe it was better he kept it that way.

“Thank you, I hope so too…”

Graham dropped off another round for them, then passed on to another patron.

“So, uh, he’s your cousin?” John started, lamely.

Rich chuckled, “Yes, one of many, though Graham and I are more like childhood friends.”

“That must be nice...You have a large family, then?”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe not large, so much as...close. Though it does feel quite large during the holidays.”

John smiled, asking, “Are they all like you two?”

Richard’s eyebrows knit together, giving the effect that he was pissed off by the insinuation. “Like what?” he wondered.

The smile fell off of his face as he scrambled to fix another mistake, “Sorry, it’s just the...the piercings…the beard...I-” 

John could make out the dimpling of his cheek beneath his beard, when Rich replied, “Yeah, I guess that could describe a few of us. We don’t intentionally coordinate, but a fair number of us appear like this, yes.”

“I blame this bastard for convincing me to get my ears stabbed through,” Graham chipped in. 

John shyed a bit, knowing he had an audience, but feeling it would be rude to go silent, he continued, “Really? What’s the story there?”

He quickly glanced over the bartender’s ears. Not nearly as many piercings as Rich had, but John typically found piercings on men a bit strange. 

“Look, you were going to get them anywa-”

“So this little shit here,” Graham pointed a thick digit toward Rich, who was rolling his eyes with a grimace. John could hardly take his eyes off that face as Graham continued, “got me fucking blitzed one night in our twenties, convinces me to go into a shop, lie about being sober, and woke up the next day with all of this punched through me!”

John did his best to stifle a laugh. The bald man didn’t have the sort of extreme piercing work through his ears that Rich did, it was only three plain rings on each ear, while Richard had bars and cuffs on top of that.

“You’d been pussy-footing around it for at least a month. I just helped you along. You hardly even felt it.”

“Easy for you to say, you pin cushion! My ears were numb the next day!”

John didn’t have much to add to the exchange, but watching the two bicker helped to alleviate his stress. It felt nostalgic for days that had passed him by, days he would likely never return to.

His lack of participation did not go unnoticed, as Richard turned his attention back to John. “Sorry about him, he gets like that sometimes.”

The man behind the counter walked off in a huff, to which his cousin laughed. John felt the flesh on his arm tingle at the sound. He smiled and shook his head, rubbing the sensation away. “Not to worry, I have a...friend who I often get like that with...”

Rich somberly nodded, making the connection that John really only had the one friend, the one who had clobbered him after his confession. He polished off the rest of his second round, then reached across the counter to the register, stealing a pen from the jar beside it. He pulled a napkin toward him and began to scribble something onto it.

“Here,” Rich said as he handed the thin paper to John, “I’ve gotta head out. I don’t know if you plan on coming back here, but you seem like a good sort.”

John held the burst of surprise from showing on his face as he placed his hand over the napkin and slid it into his pocket, nodding. Richard stood and made to leave when John’s wits returned to him enough to give his thanks and wish him a good night. 

The smile that Rich left him with lingered in his mind for the rest of the night.

~

The next morning, John sat in his living room, staring at the numbers inked across the napkin. He didn’t give Richard his number, so he knew the ball was in his court once more to make the next move, but his brain heavily combatted the idea.

It had to be a joke, Richard didn’t know what he was getting into by giving him this, it was a roundabout way to get rid of him. His intuition tried desperately to determine how he was being tricked, but none of the reasons supplied were substantial. 

He took out his phone and added the contact. It was another step, but he still hesitated to take the necessary step of sending a text.

John leaned back into the couch. Making friends was hard.

When a moment of dissociation hit him, he quickly tapped out a message.

“Hello”

His attachment to the world came back to him at full force and he panicked. What had he done? His phone chimed and his heart leaped to his throat.

“ **Hey, who is this?** ”

John immediately deflated. Of course, he didn’t remember giving his number away, maybe he’d been drunk at the time, surely he’d block him soon.

“It’s John”

“ **John! I’m glad to hear from you. I thought I scared you off after giving you my number lol”**

He urged himself to relax. He was being silly. If he continued like this he really would drive the man to blocking him.

“Sorry it generally takes more than that to get rid of me haha”

“ **:)** ”

John wheezed a laugh, then cleared his throat, the whimsical emoticon a sort of dissonance from the stoic perception he had of the man. A minute passed and he shook his head at himself. ‘It’s not that ridiculous, get a hold of yourself…’

His phone’s notification alarm went off in his hands, startling him out of his thoughts. If he could figure out how to set it to vibrate, he would.

“ **Any plans for today?** ”

He looked around his place. Honestly, he couldn’t find anything to keep him busy if he tried. It’d been that way since everything with Rosie had started, but…Would Rich find it weird that he had nothing to do on a weekend? Should he make something up?

...Was he asking him if he wanted to see him today?

John swallowed the lump in his throat and tapped out a text, tweaked it, deleted it and started over, then returned to breathing once he hit send.

“Not particularly, what about you?”

**“I have to take my nephews to the dentist. Just a check up, but you’d think they’re getting their teeth pulled by how much they’re struggling.** ”

A clear vision crossed John’s mind of Rosie stuck to his leg in a death grip when she first went to see a dentist half a year ago. Something about the idea of Richard, as intimidating as he appeared, handling children warmed John’s heart. 

“I can imagine! How old are they?”

“ **I’m eight. Den. Don’t touch that. Why** .”

John quirked a brow at the message.

“What?”

“ **Sorry, speech to text. Driving currently. Finally got them in the car.** ”

John smiled, then another message came to him.

“ **Aidan is eight and Dean is twelve.** ”

“Sounds like a handful!”

“ **They’re awesome but Aidan smells. I told you not to touch that. Butt uncle.** ”

He laughed to himself. John didn’t need anything to do today, as long as this continued. As amusing as it was, it did cause the pain in his chest to pop up. He missed Rosie, so much, but at least he would be seeing her next week.

“ **They sure are my sisters kids. Hey.** ”

“That’s nice of you to take care of them for your sister.”

“ **Yeah, she’s busy today. I help her where I can. Do you have any siblings?** ”

“I also have a sister, actually. I used to help her quite a bit, but we haven’t stayed in contact much recently.”

“ **Sorry to hear that.** ”   
  


“It’s for the best.”

John worried that he had ruined their streak when twenty minutes passed without a text. He just HAD to stop being so depressing….

His worry ceased when the messages resumed.

“ **I’ll take your word for it. We’re in the waiting room now. Why are these places always so sterile?** ”

“As a doctor, I can tell you it’s important to keep a medical area sterilized lol”

“ **That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Also, you’re a doctor? Wow.** ”

“I know, dumb joke. I am, is that surprising?”

“ **Not surprising as much as impressive. I guess you could argue I’m a doctor as well.** ”

“Really?”

“ **A car doctor** ”

“I think the proper term for that is generally ‘mechanic’ but that’s a cute way of putting it”

“ **Thanks, I try** ”

John laid supine on his couch, his full attention on his phone. If he’d known how entertaining Richard was, he would have given him his number the first night they met. 

His phone notified him of a new grindr message. John mindlessly went to read the message when he found himself going to his account settings instead. He scrolled down until his eyes caught the words: Delete Account.

He didn’t need to waste his time finding a boyfriend right now. Talking to Rich fulfilled him far more than anyone he’d found on the app.

With that out of the way, he returned to his text log with his newest friend. There was a link to a mobile game, inviting him to play darts. He tapped on it and the window changed to a dartboard. John stared at the cartoon avatar of Richard in the bottom right corner and giggled. It looked just like him.

After John made a few fumbling attempts at throwing virtual darts, Rich won the game and they fell back to chatting.

“I could beat you if they were real darts”

“ **I’d like to see you try** ”

A picture popped up in their chat, which John enlarged right away. It showed a young boy with shaggy dark hair and large puffy cheeks looking none too pleased. Another came through of a slightly older boy with shaggy blonde hair, who didn’t seem any happier.

“ **Cavities filled!** ”

John covered his mouth and laughed. One more photo appeared. Richard took a selfie with both his nephews, all of them baring their teeth. The boys both had gaps in their mouths, though it was hard to notice when John’s gaze was held on Rich’s sharp canines, the white teeth in his snarling mouth juxtaposed against his dark facial hair. It sent a chill through John’s body.

“Yours as well?”

“ **...That’s next week…** ”

John beamed at the screen. He saved the pictures to his phone, then took a photo of himself in return. It took him many tries to take one that didn’t make him squirm to look at, but eventually he gave up and hit send on one.

He bared his own teeth in a sort of snarling wink. It was a terrible picture, but he felt the need to do something silly in return.

“ **Any cavities, doctor?** ”

“I don’t eat sweets very often, though it’s been a minute since I’ve had a check-up”

“ **Really? No sweets?** ”

“I don’t abstain from sugar, I just don’t consume it often”

“ **Good to know. If you spend any amount of time around me, that may change…** ”

“Oh yes, we’ll see”

John filed that information away for later. Maybe this friendship would last long enough that he could buy the man a present…

The pace at which he received the texts died down later in the day. John missed the consistent contact, but it left him enough time to prepare a meal before he wandered into his bed, where he spent the rest of the night. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d made the effort to sleep in his own bedroom, but it certainly beat the rough cushion of the couch.

He got to wondering about Richard’s family. Did he have a wife? His own kids? John couldn’t remember if the man wore a ring or mentioned any family outside his sister, nephews, and cousins.

What did it matter? He’d been a great friend so far. John would learn more about him in time, so he may as well let it come out naturally.

John snuggled himself into the sheets, cuddling his pillow. He felt satisfied in a way he had not in many years.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short updates:  
> -I made a blog a while ago to put up stuff relating to the fic @DykeBilbo on tumblr. Not much on it right now (relating to the fic at least), but I have one art and a link to a playlist if you're into that! Will add to it as I go on. Feel free to hmu there lol  
> -Y'all are getting an extra long chapter for/on Christmas l m a o

Throughout the week, the rate of texts slowed. Richard had a job, of course that had to come first, though he did make the time to message John on his breaks and in-between moments. John spent the week reading his book, periodically dropping it to read said texts instead. 

The days of the week seemed to pass by faster since the two exchanged numbers. Where John had spent the majority of last week in an eternity of distress, the current week zoomed right by, and it was almost time to meet up with the man in person again. 

John stopped. He got to visit Rosie this Sunday. Frowning to himself, he wondered if he should take off his evening with Rich when he was meant to see Rosie the next morning. No. He could do both, he reasoned. He just had to set two alarms. God forbid he made a habit of arriving late to see his daughter.

This Sunday would only be the second time he’d visit Rosie in her new home. He was still mad about David taking away HIS day with his daughter to go on vacation, but he knew Rosie had enjoyed herself greatly, and she had definitely needed that after such a stressful transition. 

At the end of his thoughts, John finally noticed that his phone had been going off, the final chirp of an incoming call fading. He picked it up to check the caller ID. It was Greg, and it was Greg again when he received another call seconds later. John sighed and swiped it open.

“Hello?”

“John, mate, are you alright?” came the panicked tone of the head detective. 

John’s veins turned to ice. It wasn’t often that Scotland Yard’s head detective was shaken to this degree. “I’m alright, why, what’s happened?”

He could hear the shifting of movement from the other end of the phone as Greg answered, “He just told me. John, I’m on my way, it’ll be okay!” 

“Who, what- Greg, I don’t understand. What is happening? Who said what?”

“Sherlock. He just told me about the other night.”

John’s stomach dropped. He’d done a great job of ignoring what had happened, mostly thanks to Richard, but having the event brought back to the forefront of his attention sickened him. “Greg, I’d really prefer not to talk about that, I swear I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me right now, John, I know you. I’m almost there.”

John didn’t bother to hide his groan from the detective, it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the detective to show up and…

He put his head into his hands as the call ended. His jaw unclenched when a new text came through. 

“ **So, what are you up to today? More reading?** ”

“A friend is coming over to discuss something, unfortunately.”

“ **The friend that hit you…?** ”

“Another friend, but related”

“ **Sorry to hear that. Let me know how it goes.** ”

“Will do.”

A banging on his front door alerted John to his friend’s presence. “Come in!”

Greg opened the door with more force than necessary, his head whipping around to look for John. His eyes landed on him, sitting on the couch, looking exhausted. “Why is your door unlocked?”

John shook his head. Yes, he’d seen this coming, and yes, it’d been over a week since it occurred, but he still didn’t have the energy to deal with this. 

Greg made his way to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a thorough inspection. He got up close, staring into his eyes, breathing in his scent, and rolling John’s sleeves up.

John snatched his arms away and pushed the detective away. “What the hell is your problem? Can’t you see that I’m fine!”

“I’d hardly expect you to be fine! I know you by now. You’re fine for the moment, but surely you’ve gotten yourself into something and I’ll find out what that is!”

John snorted. He doubted that. He didn’t plan on letting anyone know about the friend he’d made if he could help it, mettling assholes. “You’re not going to find anything, Greg. Yeah, I’m torn up over it, but I’m getting through it. I’d really rather not think about it right now.”

Greg crossed his arms across his chest, but took a moment to consider his words - thankfully. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“I thought you already knew,” John said plainly, checking his phone for a message to distract himself. Nope, nothing.

“Sherlock told me you’d kissed him. He’s being insufferable, which tells me that didn’t turn out well.”

“Great work, Greg, now I see why they made you the head of the Yard…”

Greg rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. “You two, I swear…you’re worse than children.”

“Then stop treating us like children. Look, I know it wasn’t well received, I got that message. But I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Alright, whatever. Don’t tell me what happened…”

“Sounds good!” John’s phone sounded and he brought the screen to his face in an instant.

Greg smiled down at him. “I see! You found someone else already, then?”

John rolled his eyes and looked over the message. It was another picture. Richard was squatting in front of a car’s license plate which read “CUII NNT.” John couldn’t help but grin at the photo, then rake his eyes over Richard’s coverall-clad body, knowing expression, his sweaty brow, his grease stained cheeks, and his long hair pulled messily into a ponytail. 

His fingers tapped across the keyboard, but John stopped to look up when Greg began to laugh at him.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Take care, John.”

John sneered at him, “Thanks a lot for the check-in, Greg.” The detective flipped him off as he left, gently shutting the door behind him.

‘Back to business…’

~

That Saturday evening, John groomed himself meticulously, making sure every inch of his face was shaved, each hair on his head slicked back. He brushed and picked at his teeth, sprayed cologne, ironed his shirt, grabbed his best pair of socks...it may have been an excessive effort for a night at the pub, even for his standards. 

John looked into the mirror. He couldn’t fix up everything on his person, which is why he worked on perfecting everything that he could for when he met up with Richard tonight. He’d continued to talk to John for this long, so surely his appearance hadn’t chased the man away, but his mind refused to shy away from finding the flaws across his body.

When 8pm rolled around, he left his home and hopped into a cab. John could hardly wait to see him again, even if they’d spoken non-stop since they said good bye last week. Besides Greg’s visit, he’d hardly seen anyone in that week, and it felt good to socialize again. 

The second he’d arrived, John paid the cabbie and flew out of the car and into the pub. Striding across the building and into his seat, he adjusted himself in the mirror behind the shelves. His eyes met Graham’s in passing and he could tell the man was silently laughing at him. John pursed his lips at him, then did his best to look casual. ‘He’s Richard’s cousin,’ John reminded himself. ‘What if they talk about me behind my back? Is he suspicious of me? Is Graham watching me when I don’t notice? John Watson, stop fucking up!’

“What’ll it be, lad? Can’t imagine you want another stout considering the faces I watched you pull last time,” Graham joked.

It was said good naturedly, and he could tell that the bartender wasn’t one to bother speaking much to strangers, so instead of taking offense, John agreed, “You would be right. What beers do you have?”

After John decided on a drink, he looked back up to the mirror and noticed Richard as he entered. John watched as those pale blue eyes locked onto his back and the corners of Richard’s lips turned up a bit at the sight of him. Richard made his way toward him and John ducked his head slightly to hide the blush that was creeping up to his cheeks. 

“Hello stranger,” Richard greeted as he took the seat next to John. 

“Hey!” John pretended not to have noticed his entrance. 

Graham slid the men their drinks and returned to his duties with a nod. John made himself comfortable, leaning into the counter and crossing an ankle over his knee as he angled his body toward Rich, who similarly positioned himself to face John, his booted heels tucked into the ring of his barstool and his knees spread wide to accommodate the position of John’s legs.

John felt at peace, as though he’d spent many years in this pub with his special friend, and as though the world outside ceased to exist. His problems were certainly forgotten in the calm, quiet atmosphere.

“Your last name is Watson, right?” Rich questioned out of the blue.

His body tensed, unsure if this was a leading question and if so, to what end. The only significance he could think of toward his last name was to his days in the army, or perhaps his profession that he’d quit some time ago. John begged himself to relax, reminding himself that not everything was an attack on him. He took a breath and answered, “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Richard’s eyes bore straight into his, forcing John to look away for a moment, the contact both startling and thrilling. He began, “I mentioned you to my sister…”

John perked slightly. ‘He talks about me…?’

Rich reorganized his thoughts with a breath, “I mean, she asked about you and I told her what I knew. Within reason, of course! She told me that you sounded familiar to her.”

He felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. ‘Oh jesus, did I date his sister…? Did we fuck!? Oh no, oh god, no!’

“I showed her a picture of you, and she showed me your blog. She loved it, back when you posted often.”

“Oh! That’s very flattering,” John said in relief, though in reality, it took everything in him to unfurrow his brow and keep from biting at his nails. ‘Has he read it? I can’t even remember what I’ve put on there...What if I said something awful…? What if he finds something he doesn’t like…? What if he realizes that the friend I confessed my love to is Sherlock!?’

John realized that his attempt to wipe the worry from his face had failed when his friend called him out on it.

“John, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing, everything is fine,” he replied just a little too quickly. The long haired man tilted his head at him, so John decided to ask, “Did...did you read it?”

John felt guilty when a pained look flashed across Richard’s face. 

“I read the first few posts. Some from 2009 or 10. Sorry, if you don’t want me to read them, I won’t. The blog was still public, so I thought you wouldn’t mind, but if you prefer that I didn’t-”

“No, no, it’s okay! I just...I don’t really remember some of the earlier stuff...I’d like to think I’ve changed since then, so...just...please be patient with me. It’s kind of embarrassing, really…”

Richard smiled into his glass, then set it back to the counter. “You don’t have facebook by any chance, do you?”

John shook his head, then stopped, reconsidering his reply. “Well, I guess I do. My sister wanted me to make one to stay in better contact with me, but I just don’t use it. I don’t think I’ve gone on it in years…”

Rich laughed at this, the sound causing John’s heart to swell annoyingly. “That’s funny, my sister forced me to make one about a decade ago. I kind of got into it. I don’t use it much these days, but I’m sure there’s some embarrassing stuff on there. Would you be interested, if only to balance the scales?”

John found the idea of looking through Richard’s life incredibly appealing, so he agreed. John re-downloaded the app to his phone, logged in with a minor struggle to recall his password - joking that he was technologically inept, granting a nod and agreement from his friend, then passed it over to Rich so that he could find himself. When that was finished, John pocketed his phone. He’d enjoy looking over it later…

Richard proposed a new conversation topic: “So, how was work this week?”

John paused, confused, then realized he’d only mentioned being a doctor, and not that he had retired. ‘Do I lie? I have plenty of stories…’

“Oh, it was fine. Same as usual. Rashes, runny noses….the usual! What about you?”

The man nodded and described his week in detail, where he had dealt with rude clients, accidentally injured himself, and had a wonderful time chatting with the man whose license plate read “CUNT.”

The evening went on, as pleasant as it had last week. When John’s eyes found a clock hanging on the wall, his jaw nearly dropped at what time it was. All the time he’d spent with Richard seemed to fly right past him.

Richard noticed the late hour with a similar expression. “It’s pretty late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea,” John said, now brought back to the fact that he would have to wake up to get ready to see Rosie in a matter of hours. 

The two stumbled out of their seats, more than a little tipsy from the hours of alcohol consumption. They laughed at the sight of each other, Richard clapping John on the shoulder. John pat the outstretched arm, before they dropped their contact. As they stood outside the pub, they nodded their goodbyes and made their way down the road in opposite directions, sloppy grins plastered to their faces.

~

John cursed himself for losing track of time last night when his phone’s alarm woke him. He wouldn’t have traded his time with Richard for anything in the world, but it did make it more difficult for John to get out of bed and clean himself up.

This had been the longest period of time he’d ever spent without at least visiting his daughter. There were long stretches of days where Sherlock needed him elsewhere and Molly took over, but that never lasted for more than a single week.

Three weeks could feel like ages for a child her age. Perhaps she was fully settled in? The thought tore John’s heart to shreds. One day, Rosie will be comfortable enough in her new home that she won’t need John to visit anymore. Hell, there may come a day where she doesn’t even want John around anymore. 

Turning the water off, John exited the shower and dried off. He needed to hurry up and be on his way before he could stew in his own doubts and talk himself out of seeing her.

Fully dressed, John pulled on his regular jacket, grabbed his things, got in his car, and took off. He was confident that he knew the way to David’s house this time, but he still set his navigation, just in case.

The drive took his mind off of things.

John parked along the sidewalk and scraped the sand out of his eyes. He was running on just a few hours of sleep. While he was by no means a stranger to very little sleep, in recent memory, he’d been sleeping in for upwards of twelve to sixteen hours each day. It wasn’t healthy, but he had little to do, and it felt good to not be awake. This had changed dramatically after meeting Richard, but it was still difficult to snap back into his old sleeping schedule.

He stood out of his car and made his way up the path and to the front door. John rang the bell and waited for someone to answer. Victoria opened the door with a polite smile that wavered as she sniffed and fully took in the sight of John. She did her best to maintain a friendly disposition, though John caught on to the subtle shift.

“Good morning, John! Rosie is having her breakfast in the next room. Come on in!”

“Thanks,” John said as he stepped inside and made his way to the dining room. The house was the same as he had left it, if not neater. Peering into the dining room caused something to flare inside of him, possibly jealousy. They had a very nice house. Rosie would have plenty of room to grow here, even with a sibling on the way.

Rosie caught sight of John, yelling out, “Daddy!” before dropping a fork to her plate with a clatter and running up to give him a hug. John bent down and returned it, full force. He picked her up and returned her to her seat.

“Hello, sweetheart! How was your trip?”

John listened to every detail of the trip as Rosie talked around mouthfuls of food. He didn’t quite understand what she was talking about, but he pretended that he did, as not to interrupt her tales. 

Victoria passed through, wagging a finger at the young girl, “Rosie, don’t talk with your mouth full!”

John watched Rosie’s face fall into an emotionless expression and her eyes roll around.

“Rosie! What did we talk about?” The woman looked furious, her friendly facade dropped. Rosie aggressively shoveled some food into her mouth as she stared down Victoria. ‘That’s...a problem,’ John noted to himself.

Victoria left the room once more and Rosie returned to talking with her mouth full. John refrained from adding to the issue, but told himself he would talk to her about what just happened later, when they had a bit more privacy.

The second she finished her food, Rosie dropped down from the chair and pulled John toward her room. Victoria sent him a weak glare as she picked up after Rosie.

Once John settled himself onto the floor, Rosie went about grabbing her souvenirs and showing them off. He recognized the older characters, but the new ones were a mystery to him. John made a note to memorize the characters she enjoyed the most, as the holidays were coming around the corner, and a few months after that would be her birthday.

In the pile she had made for him, John pulled out a photo, one taken near the entrance of the park, of David, Victoria, and Rosie. He was about to feel jealous when he noticed the sour look his daughter was giving her new mother.

“Rosie,” John said, flipping the picture over to show her, “Why are you looking at your mom like this?”

Her face fell into a look that let John know that Rosie understood she was in trouble, but that she felt no remorse. “She’s not my mommy…”

John sighed. “Sweetheart, she’s not your mommy in the same way that I’m not your daddy…”

Rosie buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him tight, “But you ARE…!”

He patted her back as he told her, “You’re right. I am. And you know why? Because I care about you and I love you. Rosie, she wants to do the same for you. I won’t force you to call her ‘mommy,’ that choice is up to you, but please give her a chance. For me?”

Rosie shook her head ‘no,’ and John struggled not to laugh, since it would only encourage her. Instead, he compromised, “Fine, just keep that in mind, can you do that for me?”

She remained silent, hugging tighter. John smoothed her hair down, then broke the tension by asking more about her trip. She wiped her eyes, fully ready to talk more about going on rides and meeting her favorite characters.

A noise came from his pocket and Rosie stopped in her tracks. “Is that Sherlock!?” she screeched, hopping in excitement. 

John’s heart stuttered at the mention of his name. He wasn’t confident that it was Sherlock messaging him, but he would be lying if he said the hope wasn’t there.

He pulled out his phone to find that it was a message from Rich.

“ **Played mama to a fox cub that wandered into the shop!** ” Attached was an image of him in his coveralls, sat next to a small dish of water with a thirsty fox drinking from it less than a foot from the man.

John smiled down at his phone. It was hard to say he was disappointed.

“Let me see! AH!!! A fox! It’s so cute!”

John tilted his phone so that Rosie could get a better view of the picture. 

“So cute! ….Who’s that? That’s not Sherlock!”

The name made him twitch again. It would be difficult to tell her about what happened with the detective. He’d save that for a later time.

John zoomed in on the man in the photo so that she could get a better look. “Daddy made a new friend recently! His name is Richard, and he’s a very nice man. He texts me a lot.”

“He has to make sure you’re not lonely!” Rosie supplied.

“I...yes, he does a good job of that…” John was made a little speechless by her outburst, but she wasn’t wrong.

Victoria knocked on the open door to let John know it was about time for him to wrap up his visit. “Well, it was nice to see you, John!” she chirped with a grin across her face.

“Yes, it was,” John said as he stood, “I’ll see you in another couple of weeks, okay Rosie?”

Rosie gave him one more hug, then flopped down onto her bed. John flashed her a quick smile, then made his way out of the house.

“John…” Victoria stopped him at the door.

‘Oh what could it be now,’ he wondered. “Yes, do you need something?”

Her shaky brown eyes flitted back over her shoulder to make sure that Rosie wasn’t present, then she started, “John, please don’t show up here drunk…”

“What?” he answered a bit louder than necessary. He was NOT drunk!

Victoria crossed her arms over her chest, but she couldn’t meet his eye, nor did she have more to say. Suddenly, it hit John: his jacket smelled like the pub from last night. Not only did he reek of alcohol, but he was running on very little sleep, which made him a bit off-balance. 

“No, I’m not drunk, you see, I-”

“Careful on your way home, John,” Victoria said as she shut the door in his face.

‘GOD, the nerve of this fucking family…’ John raged to himself before stomping off to his car.

~

John woke from a nap on his couch, lifting himself to stretch his limbs and crack his back. ‘I’ve GOT to stop falling asleep here…’

A light blinked on his phone, so he reached for it. Turning it on, he found a facebook message from Harriet. He could feel a headache coming on. Opening the message brought up a chat window with a small picture of his sister. He hadn’t seen her face in ages, but he could see that her hair was going grey like his. He read the message:

“John Watson? Using facebook? Who’s this Richard guy? Your new boyfriend? LOL! Say hi to Rosie for me! Best Xx”

John rolled his eyes and exited the window. He didn’t feel the need to reply. He did, however, browse the app until he came across Rich’s profile.

Richard Durin. His photo was handsome, as he usually was, if a bit dour. That black and silver hair ran free over his shoulders, his thick brows nearly shrouded his eyes which were closed and bruised from a lack of sleep, and his lips were pinched into a thin line. He tapped on the picture, looking through the comments left on it.

Desiree Durin: Would it honestly kill you to use a better picture?

Richard Durin: Yes.

James McFur: Oh lighten up will you? Come visit us next weekend, we’ll show ya a good time!

Richard Durin: Busy. Let’s reschedule.

It was odd to see such curt replies, as Rich’s texts to him were often far more colorful. 

He scrolled through Rich’s “wall” for a couple of hours, soaking in the information and savoring it, no matter how small the details may have been. Occasionally there would be short text posts about how rough a day at work had been, or how he had dealt with this or that friend or family member’s antics. Photos ranged from political messages, pixelated memes, and videos of cute, fluffy animals, but the pictures posted of his nephews, of old, scanned photographs from his youth, and moments where his smiles were secretly captured sent John’s heart fluttering.

John checked the sparse contents on his own page. He had one post which read: “There. Are you happy, Harriet?” as well as a profile picture uploaded: the same picture he used on his blog, his hair cropped neatly, wearing the most casual blazer and tie (well, the only ones really) he owned. Underneath the picture, his sister kindly commented on how ‘dorky’ he looked in it. ‘Maybe it’s time to change it…’

He scrolled through the pictures on his phone and sighed. He didn’t take many pictures of himself, as he didn’t care for his own looks very much, nor did he have anyone in his life who did. ‘Fair enough,’ he thought. The majority of the pictures he did have on his most current phone were of Rosie and every once in a while, Sherlock. His eyes stung a bit and his chest grew heavy.

He scrolled back to the top, because he had technically taken a photo of himself recently. He’d taken a new photo of himself for his grindr profile. In his mind, the picture was supposed to make him look lightly sexy or mysterious, but in reality it was simply him resting his tilted head against his fist, a small smirk on his face as he stared into the camera’s lens. John laughed at it now. ‘As good as any, I guess.’

John set this picture as his new profile photo. When this was done, he noticed the small red notifications at the top of the page. Opening them, he realized they were friend requests, more than he’d ever expected to see, all of whom were mutuals with Richard. It terrified him slightly, but he accepted them all.

Feeling quite drained from the day, John got cozy on the couch, eventually succumbing to his exhaustion.


	13. Chapter 13

John woke to a knocking on his front door, followed by an envelope being pushed through his mail slot. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood, making his way over to the door. He picked up the envelope, flipping it to check for the sender, but found it was blank. John stepped closer to the door, peering out of the peephole, only to find that it was pitch black outside.

He sighed, tearing into the envelope. Unfolding the note inside, John stared at a series of characters and letters that were absolute gibberish. He shook his head. ‘I’m sick of this cryptic bullshit,’ he thought as he walked it over to his trash. He then went to wash his hands, learning from years of assisting Sherlock on cases that mysterious notes dropped off in the middle of the night weren’t often done so by friendly strangers.

Returning to his spot in the living room, he pulled out his phone. Since adding multiple people on his facebook, his phone had been flooded with notifications about new posts and likes and all these other things John didn’t quite understand. If he could grasp how to change his settings, he would, but instead he elected to manually clear them. 

At the end of this, he found some text messages. A few from Richard, of course, and another couple from Hugo. John opened Hugo’s first, saving Rich’s as a treat for behaving like a social creature. 

The texts read:

“Hey John! Ian and I were planning on spending this weekend traveling through France! I was wondering if you’d like to come with us?”

“P.S. Nothing sexual, lol”

John laughed at the second message, then got to thinking about the offer. He didn’t get to see Rosie this Sunday, but the idea of skipping his night with Richard wasn’t ideal.

He texted him back, “Sorry, I’ve got a routine on Saturday nights that I’d rather not break just quite yet. You two have fun, though, and thanks for the invite!”

As soon as he hit send, his eyes caught the time: 4am. He silently prayed that the two weren’t light sleepers and that his reply didn’t wake them up.

John felt guilty when another text came to his phone, but this washed away as he saw it was yet another text from Richard. ‘Jesus, he should be asleep at this hour…’

Opening Rich’s messages, John noticed a picture of a badger hiding behind a couch, and a paragraph to go with it.

“ **The boys came home from school asking if we could get a pet. Little did we know that they had already brought this pet home. I was thinking of a cat or dog, a hamster maybe, then I see this peering at me from across the flat. What am I going to do with them?** ”

John was tearing up in a fit of laughter, continuing to read the chat.

“ **Asked them where they got it. Brought it back out there. I’ll be sure to give them a talk later….** ”

He scrolled down to the most recently sent text.

“ **You ever start the day and you can just tell that it’s going to be a rough one?** ”

John sent a response: “Just about every day!”

Richard texted back immediately. “ **What the hell? Go to bed.** ”

“I could say the same to you, what are you doing up?”

“ **Getting ready for work lol I suppose you’re doing the same?** ”

John gulped, but replied truthfully, “I don’t have work today.”

“ **Good, you looked pretty tired when you left the other night. Having the day off means that you should be sleeping right now, though.** ”

John bit his lip. He was touched by his friend’s concern, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve it. He’d lied fairly easily about his employment status Saturday night when they last met, but he knew this was no way to make and keep friends. On the other hand, John had been himself for years, and the only friend he’d truly managed to keep…

No, if this wasn’t going to continue, it was best to cut it off now. Maybe Rich will think less of him for not keeping a job, but if he cut contact, that was his choice and he should be able to make it.

He attempted the text several different times before giving up and sending a version of it.

“Please, don’t worry about me. I’m actually not employed right now.”

“ **I’m sorry to hear that. You’re not struggling right now, are you? I’m willing to help out.** ”

“No, I’m fine. I’m not struggling. I’m sorry I lied about it the other night, it’s just a little complicated.”

“ **Did you get into trouble? Some sort of malpractice thing?** ”

“NO. Just. Life. I guess I worded that wrong. To clarify: I’m retired.”

“ **Sorry for assuming. I know how life can fuck you over sometimes. Retired? How old are you?** ”

John didn’t like to think about his age, as it sent him down the rabbithole of shamefully thinking about how his life was going, as well as the state of his appearance - wrinkles, hair thinning, truly unlovable - but he was being honest right now, and so he conceded, “49.”

“ **Really? So am I.** ”

John was in shock. He certainly wouldn’t have placed the man at that age.

“Wow, you’ve aged far better than I have, haha.”

Roughly ten minutes passed before he received another text.

“ **You’re handsome. In your own way.** ”

John’s heart skipped a beat, then his brain quickly took over to interpret the words as a gentle agreement that he wasn’t in the greatest shape. He decided not to linger on it. Another text came through.

“ **Time to set off for work. I’ll text you when I can, hope you have a good day!** ”

“Thanks, you too!”

John was thankful that his revelation hadn’t tainted their relationship at all. It felt good to have one thing off of his chest. There was plenty that Richard didn’t know about him, but it would all come out at some point.

May as well leave his secrets be until they come up.

~

It was another quiet day. John had finished the first book of the new series he’d been working on reading, but the next book had yet to be delivered to his door. This left very little for him to do. His home was clean, spotless, devoid of all signs of living, so that was off the list. Going for a run or bike ride had fallen off his to-do list ages ago, as he lacked the energy for it.

He wondered if it was worth it to come back to his job, but quickly shut that idea down as well. John walked into his kitchen, looking around for something to make for himself. Some canned vegetables, some spices, milk. John was still only eating takeout. Maybe it was about time to go out and get groceries, maybe make something new.

For a second he thought of bothering Hugo, as his husband had offered cooking lessons, but he much preferred to try to make something on his own first. 

As he walked through the aisles, he felt light, absent, as though there was a disconnect with himself and reality. His heart’s pace sped up and he felt sick. It was difficult to rid himself of the feeling that everyone’s eyes were on him, all-seeing, all-knowing, and disgusted by him. He grabbed what he could recall of the recipe he had looked up, then paid and left the store, back to the relative safety of his car.

John calmed on the drive home, once again eager to get to work. Shortly after bringing his groceries in, he heard his ringtone going off. He slapped his hands over his pockets, before he noticed his phone lying on the kitchen table, and he moved to pick it up.

Surprised to see that it was a call from Richard, he swiped the call open. “Hey, what’s up?” John’s first thought was that he’d been “butt dialed,” but was happily proven wrong when he heard the voice on the other end.

“Hey. Not much, just taking my lunch. How’s your day going?”

“Slow. I went out and got stuff to make dinner.”

“Mmmmm, what are you making?”

“Oh just a recipe I found online. Chicken with cheese and mushrooms.”   
  


“Sounds good. So, when are you inviting me over for dinner?”

The chuckling on the other end told John this was a joke, but his face began to heat up as his thoughts wandered toward the idea of having the man over for dinner. Just the two of them…

“John, are you still there?”

“Yes, sorry! Uh, I’d love to have you over some time! I just...I’m told I’m not a great cook. I’m working on it though!”

John could practically hear Richard beaming as he said, “I’m sure your cooking is just fine, but take your time. I don’t mean to invite myself over, I just...”

“No, you’re fine. I’ll be honest, I’m the sort of person who needs someone to force their way in occasionally…”

He heard a small, far away “okay,” and some shifting from Richard’s end.

“How’s your day going, by the way?” John asked.

Rich sighed, “It’s pretty slow. I might actually take off a bit early today. I don’t like to do that too often, but it’s just one of those days....”

John frowned, then kicked himself, knowing the other man couldn’t see it. “Is something wrong?”

“No, just tired...the kids kept me up a little late last night.”

“Ah, that’ll do it,” John nodded in agreement. His heart sunk a little, wondering if he had meant his nephews, or if he was talking about his own children, if he had any. 

“Yeah...gotta love them, though. I hardly get to see them as it is…” John’s heart sunk a little further at this, knowing exactly how he felt. Richard continued, “Leaving for work when they’re asleep, then I fall asleep the second I get home...I think that decides it, I’m gonna head home, hahah.”

The corners of John’s lips quirked up faintly. “You do that. Drive home safe!”

“I’ll try. I’ll text you later, John. Have fun cooking!”

“Yeah, will do. Talk to you later!”

Hanging up, John got to work on setting out his ingredients. His recipe had called for very little, and yet, it seemed as though in his haste to leave the store, John had forgotten a few items, like butter and oil. And maybe something else?

John opened a separate tab from the recipe on his phone, looking up substitutes for his missing ingredients. Once those were put together, he got to work on dinner, for real this time. He slapped the chicken into a pan, then got to washing and chopping his vegetables. Half way through, he noticed that he forgot to preheat his oven, and paused to do so. As his carrots and mushrooms were finished being chopped, he realized he had not pulled the cooking sheet out of the oven, and he moved to do so, before also remembering that he needed a pot holder. How stupid to think he could just reach in and grab it! When the sheet was set on top of the stove, John smelled the chicken burning. He grabbed a spatula and did his best to scrape it off from the bottom of the pan. If he’d just had the butter or oil...But he continued on. The carrots were now in the oven and the chicken was cooked through, so he transferred them to a plate to work on the mushroom sauce. He didn’t have the sour cream that the recipe called for either. The internet told him that the next best option was Greek yogurt, but he had a regular, vanilla flavored yogurt in the fridge, and why shouldn’t that work? The mushrooms had softened and he’d thrown the pot in, the sweet smell battling with the scent of the mushrooms. He ignored it as he reintroduced the chicken to the pan, dripping some of the watery, sweet mushroom sauce over the cutlets before adding the jack cheese. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he reached into the oven to take out the carrots he had not set the timer for, their sides a crispy black.

He served his portion onto a plate and sat at the table, staring down at the mess he’d made for himself. Rosie was right, he was a terrible cook. John forced himself to take a bite. It wasn’t “inedible,” per se, but it was by no means “good,” not even “average.”

John didn’t bother to keep eating it. He stood and scraped what was left on his plate into the garbage, doing the same with what was in his pan and on the cooking sheet. He couldn’t invite Richard over and expect him to eat this garbage. If he did, then he would see how worthless he was, and he would leave...Which was likely the best choice for Rich, but the thought immediately brought tears to John’s eyes. ‘How do I become worth keeping around?’ he asked himself.

His stomach growled, and he made his way back to the couch. He’d slept off his hunger plenty of times in the past couple of months, and it seemed tonight would be no exception.

~

John had many nightmares in the days following Rosie’s departure. For the most part, as his new life settled around him, these nightmares faded back to their typical handful of occurrences each month, some even being replaced by regular, normal dreams. 

From what he could remember of this dream, he had been going for a walk in a city, in a different country, a country that didn’t exist, but dreams often worked that way. He had been walking, when he ran into a stranger, covered from head to toe, his identity impossible to determine. This stranger had grabbed John’s hand and led him down an alley, a filthy place, garbage being shoveled around with every step they took. 

When they got to the end of it, far from the eyes of any living being, the stranger leaned in and whispered curses into his ear. He distantly recognized the voice, so John reached out and put his arms around his shoulders, bringing him in for a tight hug. The faint cursing continued, and John’s hand found its way into soft, curly hair.

John’s eyes opened, and he was in his living room. It was difficult to tell if he was still dreaming, as the noises that were present in his dream continued, but the second he shifted to stand up, he knew he was awake: it was rare that he felt so lifeless in his sleep.

He got up slowly, quietly, as not to disturb whoever had snuck into his home and was now rooting through his trash.Subconsciously, it came as little surprise that it was Sherlock, but when his mind caught up to him, his throat seized up and his body trembled.

He hasn’t had such a visceral reaction to the detective’s presence since he’d come back from the dead, but considering their current tentative relationship and having not seen the man in weeks…

John mechanically stepped forward, “S-Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?”

The detective, on his knees and hunched over his kitchen’s bin, paid him no mind as he dug to the very bottom of his garbage, the failed experiment of last night’s dinner splattering all over the kitchen floor. 

“Ah! There it is!” he exclaimed as he held up the strange letter he’d received. Sherlock got to his feet, brushing himself off, then turned to John with a sneer on his face. “Why would you throw this away? You even opened it! You should have realized that I needed this!”

John couldn’t meet his eyes. He only just woke up, but he was furious. Sherlock’s flippant attitude on top of the silent treatment he’d given John in the weeks since he’d confessed his feelings to him, as well as going on as though it had never happened, that John had not been thrown into the lowest depressive episode he’d ever experienced in his life!

“I’M NOT INVOLVED IN THIS!” John yelled at the top of his lungs.

“YES, YOU OBVIOUSLY ARE! WHY ELSE WOULD THEY HAVE DROPPED THIS OFF WITH YOU? JUST HOW USELESS CAN YOU BE?”

Sherlock huffed, sensing he would get no rebuttal, and took his leave, slamming the door shut behind him. Just as well, as John was on the verge of getting into a shouting match and throwing the man out.

Drained, John flopped down in his spot in the living room, his eyes pointed to the blank canvas of the ceiling. He willed himself not to think about any of it. His thoughts always spiralled out of control the moment that he let them enter his head.

Thankfully, his phone chimed with another text from Rich. The empty pit in his chest flooded with warmth once more. ‘This man will never know just how much his friendship means to me…’

John laughed at the photo of an old basset hound with two puppies pulling on its ears with Richard’s attached message: “ **Pic of me with my nephews** ”

The moment passed and John returned to staring at the ceiling. He was still troubled by facing Sherlock again. John bit his lip as he looked back to his phone, his text log with Richard still open. Looking at the time, he found it was only 8pm. The man was likely still awake. John wondered if he should tell him about what had just happened. Richard didn’t know Sherlock, didn’t have a grasp on what he meant to John, but more importantly, would it scare him off?

He pressed his head back into a pillow. Rich was a good man. If he was bothered by John getting a little personal, he’d let it be known and forget about it, right?

“Mind if I vent to you for a moment?” John started.

John was relieved by Richard’s quick response, “ **Of course, go ahead** ”

“I had someone break into my house.”

“ **Jesus, John are you alright? Do you need help?** ”

John could have smacked himself for not registering how that single sentence would be received.

“ **John, please tell me you’re okay. If not, I can be right there, just tell me where you are** ”

“No, I’m alright, I didn’t mean for that to sound so dire. I just woke up to an old friend going through my garbage. They then proceeded to yell at me and walk out. Typing this out, it doesn’t sound too bothersome, but believe me, it was incredibly difficult just to see them again.”

He sent the message, then shook his head at himself. That must have come out as nonsense. He should have just gone back to sleep. Even so, he watched as Richard typed out a reply. 

“ **Was it Sherlock?** ”

John’s heart stopped, staring at the name written in front of him. How could he possibly know? How in the whole hell…?

“Yes…how did you know?”

“ **I’ve been going through your blog a bit. He sounds like a bastard, I’m sorry you have to deal with him, John.** ”

John got half way through tapping out a paragraph coming to the detective’s defense before he thought about what he was doing. He’d always been quick to dismiss others’ opinions on Sherlock, but what had Sherlock done to deserve John’s unyielding loyalty? He dropped his phone to his chest, lying limp across the cushions. When he’d gathered his thoughts, instead of delivering the counter he’d planned, he typed out, “So am I.”

“ **Is there anything I can do for you?** ”

John sighed. He felt as though Richard already did so much for him, how could he possibly ask for more? He was better company than he’d had in many years, he wasn’t going to push his luck now.

“No, but thank you. I should be fine.”

“ **If you ever need anything, I’m here.** ”

‘Yeah...he does too much for me, more than I deserve,’ John thought.

“ **Also, I’m sorry about my family. A few of them mentioned adding you on fb. Let me know if they bother you, I’ll take care of it.** ”

John laughed. None of the people he’d added had so much as attempted to talk to him, but even if they did and they were terrors, he’d find it a fair trade for Rich’s presence in his life. 

“They’re fine, don’t worry about it.” He looked to the clock, then added, “And go to bed! Don’t let me keep you up!”

“ **I don’t mind staying up for you.** ”

“You’ve got work tomorrow. Off to bed with you!”

“ **Yes, dear….lol. Goodnight, John.** ”

“Goodnight :)”

John rubbed his hand over his chest to ease the ache from his heart’s reaction to the last few hours worth of events. He stood, knowing he wouldn’t easily fall back asleep now that he was awake, and decided on cleaning the mess that was left of his kitchen floor. ‘Rich is right, you sure are a bastard…’


	14. Chapter 14

When he entered the pub, John was pleasantly surprised to find that Richard was already sitting in the stool beside his usual seat, positioned so that he could both comfortably talk with Graham and check the entrance for John’s arrival. As the heavy door shut closed behind John, Rich turned his head to him, flashing him a welcoming smile and a short wave. John lit up and made his way over.

Graham had left and returned with John’s beer of choice, wordlessly sliding it over to him, then walking into the back room to give them some privacy. John had only been to the pub a few times, but he already felt like a regular. 

John grabbed the glass and turned to look up at Richard. Their eyes met and it sent a shock throughout John’s body that left his heart fluttering. He smirked up at the man and rested his gaze elsewhere, asking him, “How was your week?” and taking a drink of his beer.

Rich stretched his back and rolled his shoulders with a groan. “The same as usual. Could’ve been better...could’ve been worse. How about you?”

John tried to recall the week he’d only just lived through. After Sherlock dropped by, nothing of note really happened, except that he ruined yet another meal, but his cooking progress wasn’t worth mentioning, he reasoned. “It was okay. Can’t complain.”

Rich nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced. “Did you...sort things out with...your friend?”

John shook his head. “No, not really. We didn’t really discuss anything. No doubt he’ll be back, but...I’m not too interested in speeding up that process.”

“Of course,” Rich said, then stared deeply at the bar’s countertop. Concern poked at the edges of John’s mind until Richard brought up a new topic. “So, did you go through my facebook profile?”

John snorted. “I did, yeah, it was really interesting. Graham was right about your piercings. I don’t know how I couldn’t picture you in a punk phase before.”

Richard shook his head, though he had a large grin on his face that brought warmth to the icy color of his eyes. “I still have those piercings lying around somewhere, as well as my old clothes, though I can’t imagine they fit anymore. Did you find anything else?”

John thought for a moment. He didn’t dig as deep as he could have. Random photos, links to music, and game invites were all he could recall. Suddenly remembering the tone of his comments, John decided to pick on that.

“You speak very frankly with your friends and family, but I haven’t noticed that in-person or through your texts?”

Rich’s smile slowly fell limp as his eyes searched aimlessly for an answer. “I, uh, hadn’t noticed that…” he said as he scratched his cheeks, and if John noticed a slight tinge of pink to them, he chalked it up to the alcohol, or the warmth or lighting in the room.

Curious and wishing to even the field once more, John asked, “How far into the blog have you gotten?”

Rich quickly pulled out his phone and checked where he had left off, the window and tab in which he’d been reading it left open, obviously from his last pass at it. “2011. It’s going a little slow. I don’t have very much free time in my schedule, sorry.”

“Oh no, not a problem at all!” John refrained from pointing out the fact that Rich spent his Saturday evenings at a bar and used every available second throughout the week to send John texts. The less of his blog he read, the better, in John’s opinion. 

After a while of companionable silence, Rich set conversation in motion once more, “So, now you know all there is to know about me?”

John nearly dribbled beer from his lips at the smile this prompted from him. Reaching up to wipe his chin with the back of his hand, he huffed, “I certainly wouldn’t say that! Hardly any of it was particularly embarrassing or deep! My blog, however, is nothing but! I honestly should have deleted it years ago...”

“Hmm, you know? I love your blog...but there’s plenty I hate about it,” Rich uttered fondly, the end of his thought trailing off.

John ceased the progression of his glass to his lips, completely glossing over the man’s tone. ‘Hate? Maybe it wasn’t that interesting or informative, but what was there to hate?’ John wondered.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t mention it…” Richard amended when he noticed John’s reaction to his words. 

Staring at the long haired man from the corner of his eye, John lightly pleaded, “No, please, what’s wrong with it? Over exaggerated? Boring?”

Richard sat, paused for a good moment, pondering an escape route from the topic, but eventually shrugged his shoulders and told the truth, “You talk about him a lot, your roommate...Sherlock.”

John nodded and took a sip. In the early days, that’s all he had to talk about. Nothing else was happening in his life then. Arguably, John had always focused his blog heavily on Sherlock. If one wanted to get technical, maybe one could say that the detective never fully left his mind a single day since they had met, whether that be typing on his blog, speaking to others in his day-to-day life, to himself in his head, but that was neither here nor there. That infuriating man was...everything…at one point.

John cleared his throat, sensing he’d been silent for too long, “I did, yeah. He was my best friend.”

His friend nodded, his gaze glued to his drink. John stared at Rich, noticing his tense posture and far away expression. Silence reigned for several minutes, and it was starting to get on his nerves. “Should we play twenty questions?” John suggested, causing Richard to snap out of his trance and turn to him. John continued, “To uh, get to know each other better? I mean it’s kind of silly, but-”

Rich chuckled deeply, encouraging another smile to creep over John’s face. It didn’t take much from the man to affect him, John noted.

“What’s your favorite color?” Richard asked.

John studied the taller man’s face to gauge if he was serious, then spent a moment too long peering into his bright eyes. For a split second he contemplated answering with the color he saw there, but something in his mind tackled him, bringing him back to the reality that this would be far too suggestive to say to a friend, especially one he’d only known for some weeks.

“Having trouble?” Rich prodded. “Mine is blue.”

John scratched his head. “Uh, I like....green, I suppose.” The ball was in John’s court to ask a random question, but he just could not think of anything that didn’t feel overly prying. This was a terrible game that he had never been good at. He’d been joking when he brought up the idea, and now he thoroughly regretted it. 

He pulled out his phone with the intent of looking up a list of questions to ask, when Rich pointed to the screen, “Who’s that?”

John pulled his phone closer to him, out of Richard’s view. He looked down at the picture of Rosie he had as his phone’s background, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. His anxiety shut down his ability to think of a response, the only thing running through his head being the idea that if Richard were to find out how awful a parent he was for losing his daughter, he would likely stop treating John with that patience and kindness that he had never received from anyone else in his life. It was selfish, but he would rather come up with a lie than to lose what they had. He couldn’t go back to being alone.

“John? It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me, I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

Air returned to his lungs. His eyes stung. ‘I don’t deserve this wonderful man…’

“I’m sorry, but….I’ll tell you about that another time...if that’s okay?”

“Of course, take your time,” Rich assured him, rubbing his hand over John’s shoulder.

John mentally shook off his encroaching fears, resuming his search. Typing in “questions to ask people” brought up many long lists of boring questions. Eventually he came across an interesting set of questions, though it was under “8 Best Questions to Ask Your Girlfriend.” John shrugged it off. Questions were questions, the specifics didn’t matter.

“Uh…do you enjoy….camping?” John asked, condensing the question on the web page to something less convoluted.

“Ahhh, cheating are we?” Rich said in jest, understanding the reason for John taking his phone out. John gave him a pointed look to let him know he felt no shame in this, so Richard dropped it and thought about the question. “I haven’t gone camping in years...I’d love to do it again at some point. What about you?”

“That’s not your question is it? I think that’s cheating worse than this,” John jabbed. Rich beamed at him, but shook his head ‘no,’ his hair whipping into his face. John replied to the question, “Camping...I’ve not gone on many traditional camping trips. I’m not against it.”

“Maybe we should go together sometime!”

John liked the idea. “Yeah, maybe we should plan on that.”

It was another enjoyable evening spent with Richard. The questions continued. John read from his list and Rich came up with his own off the top of his head. 

“How did you get that jacket?”

“What trend makes you feel old?”

“When was the last time you went traveling?”

“What’s the silliest fight you’ve ever gotten into?”

This last one took Richard a while to think of an answer to. John could tell he was torn between a few different stories, but he eventually decided on one involving their bartender. Rich detailed an event in their youth where an admirer had given Graham a tin of biscuits, which he’d joked about running over with his motorcycle, not expecting that this would turn into a full blown wrestling match. John enjoyed the story, but couldn’t help but to wonder what other stories had passed through his memory. 

Rich was a fairly built man, but John found it difficult to picture him getting into any sort of fights. It went against his general nature, at least from what John saw of him. He was too level headed for that nonsense.

In return, John recounted the time Sherlock had punched him in order to create an excuse to break into Irene’s home. Rich gave him an odd look, so he explained that it was for a case, but this had ended in Sherlock getting choked out, the fight escalating further than intended. 

Late into the night, Graham helpfully pointed out the fact that they were the bar’s last two patrons, everyone else having gone home already. The two decided to call it a night, thanking Graham for putting up with them, then stumbling out to the pavement.

“I had a great time tonight, John,” Richard informed him, his words oddly spaced from each other due to the four or five ales he’d downed.

“Glad to hear it, I did too…” John slurred. 

The two nodded at each other, walking down the street in separate ways. John picked his head up to notice a sleek black car roll past him, then down the street in Richard’s direction, and around the same corner that the man took each night. The synapses in his brain failed to make any sort of connection between the two, so he put one foot in front of the other until he successfully waved down a cab to take him home.

~

“Hey John, I hear that date went pretty well. Ya gonna tell me about them yet?”

John was left in a state of confusion as he read the text that Greg sent him that morning. He hadn’t been on a date in at least a month, which he made sure to inform him of.

Scrolling down to check the next message, one from Molly, he was met with something similar.

“Glad to know you’re back on your feet, John. Let me know when you see Rosie next, I have something for her!”

He knew there was something he was missing out on. “Hey Molly, I see Rosie this Sunday. What do you mean ‘back on my feet?’”

Greg’s response came soon after he hit send on his text. “Sherlock has been in a strop over your new boyfriend. When did you plan on telling me about all this?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that I had a boyfriend, Greg. Where is that asshole?”

“Sherlock is at the station going over our files. Current case might be coming to a close.”

John sighed to himself, a new message from Molly showing up on his phone.

“Great, swing by my place at some point. Someone has been grumbling about how happy you’ve been.”

He shook his head. ‘Perfect, just what I fucking needed…’ 

It certainly wasn’t shocking that the detective was STILL stalking him, but did he HAVE to bring everyone else into John’s business? 

“Any idea of who he’s convinced is your boyfriend then? Sounds promising!” Greg texted him.

John rubbed at his temples. He’d gone on a few dates with random men some weeks ago, but SURELY Sherlock noticed how poorly the last one went! And how dare he be moody with his moving on!?

“Greg, I have NO idea who he’s referring to. I’m still as single as ever and I hardly go out and see people anymore. And don’t let this give you any ideas!”

“Alright, I get it, geez.”

John rolled his eyes and turned away from his phone. What was he going to do? The muscles throughout his body tensed as the phone chimed a couple more times. He really needed to get a hobby to take his mind off the damn thing. If only he had something to keep busy…

Reluctantly taking a peak at the device, he saw a new message from Rich, as well as one from the head detective. He opened Greg’s.

“Sherlock says it’s the one with the long hair and leather jacket. Really, John?”

John deleted the message before he could work himself into a proper rage. Just the idea of Sherlock stalking him and Richard made him furious, on top of the man’s typical antics!

He opened Rich’s text.

“ **Slow day, thinking about camping trips. Do you prefer to camp when it’s warmer out? Maybe we should wait until after the holidays?** ”

John laughed, thinking about how he wanted to reply, “Let’s just move out into a cave in the woods right now, I’m about ready to throw it all away. Sherlock is really getting on my nerves, and he can’t follow us everywhere!” He didn’t send this. John made an active effort not to mention the detective to Rich. It brought the mood down, and he hated the fact that Sherlock was the base for the majority of what he talked about. The detective only served to drag him down, he needed to move on with his life.

“I can put up with the cold just fine, it doesn’t bother me. Late nights in the desert are worse than anything we have around here!”

John looked down, expecting Rich’s reply, but found it was a text from Sherlock. It was going to be a hard day, he could feel it.

“Meet me at Scotland Yard ASAP -SH”   
  


“Go fuck yourself.”

No follow up came, so John pressed himself further into his seat. Maybe there was something on tv for once.

~

Several hours later, John’s door burst open. He shot up from his position to watch as Sherlock angrily made his way toward him. The detective's long fingers dug into the lapels of his cardigan, forcing John to take in his disheveled state. Curly hair fell limp with rainwater, and dark bruises littered the man’s face and arms.

“Jesus, what in the HELL happened to you?”

Sherlock flipped his dripping fringe from his eyes to glare down at John. “I needed you, John.”

“So you keep saying, but Sherlock, you-”

“I NEED YOU. TO LISTEN.”

John shut his jaw with a click, sitting back when his friend let go of him. He’d been waiting for nearly a month now for something out of the detective. While his patience for the man had decreased significantly (how that could happen further, he would never know), John desperately craved some acknowledgement.

Sherlock schooled his face into a more neutral expression. 

“I shouldn’t have hit you...but you can’t...feel that way about me.”   
  
John remained silent, an ill feeling washing over him. He felt many emotions, conflicting, contradicting. If he had known how to express this, he would have shouted the taller man down with it. 

“You don’t know me,” Sherlock told him. He backed up, his hands falling from John’s shoulders.

At another point in time, John would have called him out on his bullshit, that he did know the man, and that he was a good man and his best friend. These days, John had nothing but time on his hands. Time to think about their past, everything that went wrong, the ways in which Sherlock betrayed him, kept him in the dark. 

No. He DID know Sherlock. When John had lived with the man in their early days, he’d been blinded with amazement at the man, and by the time he came back, he had painted an image of him that excused his downright sadistic tendencies. It was only now that John saw the true Sherlock. He didn’t care who he hurt, or how, especially not John. Sherlock knew he would sit back and take it, again and again.

John’s hands met his face in an attempt to massage the exhaustion from his being. He noted that Sherlock had not actually made an apology. The man did not regret his actions, confirming this view of his character. His heart ached. John knew, logically, that he would be better off cutting the detective from his life once more, but his heart still yearned in spite of this.

He was weak. John always forgave the man, whether he’d earned it or not. Nothing ever changed.

The cushion depressed as Sherlock sat down next to him. John felt Sherlock’s thin, long arms wrap around him and he melted into the touch. His own arms came up in response and he rested his chin on his friend’s shoulder. He was ashamed of how good it felt, euphoria flooding his veins. For a second he could pretend that things were different, that this moment replaced the moment after he’d kissed him, that things were going to get better for him. That John had finally found someone who loved him with no ulterior motives.

He scrunched his eyes shut tight to keep the tears in his eyes from letting loose. ‘There’s just no escaping this…’

As if on cue, the chime of a text broke the moment, rescuing John from another breakdown. His arm stretched over to the coffee table to retrieve it, but he quickly realized that Sherlock had already picked it up for him. John had a perfect view of the disdainful look Sherlock held at the screen. He was suddenly reminded of Greg and Molly informing him of Sherlock’s rampage over a new boyfriend, and he swiped the device from the detective’s hands.

“I’d appreciate it if you backed off and quit stalking me!” John barked at him. He then moved to open the text from Richard.

“ **Hey, would you want to go camping here? [Link]** ”

John tapped a finger on the link and read through the article and stared at the pictures until Sherlock cleared his throat beside him. He quickly typed up a reply and slid the phone into his pocket.

“Why do you dislike him so much?” John asked, though he didn’t really look forward to an answer. Sherlock was a prickly person at best, but he’d never witnessed him express so much anger toward anyone he’d never met. Though, he certainly had access to information that John didn’t…

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but kept his mouth shut. ‘Of all the times to keep quiet…’ John wondered.

John sighed and stood up. It didn’t seem as though Sherlock would be leaving any time soon, so he would put on some tea. 

“He lives in a three bedroom flat with a woman and two kids, you know…”

John spun around to glare at Sherlock, whose gaze was steadily held on a blank wall. He knew that this information would make John upset, why would he tell him? Rich never mentioned a wife and kids, but that was for him to let John in on, not for the detective to dig up and throw at his feet. The very idea of the irritating prat following and keeping tabs on Richard boiled John’s blood.

“Leave him alone,” John warned through grit teeth.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, John…”

“Then you leave ME alone! You’ve caused me far more harm than Richard ever could!”

Sherlock huffed and settled into a languid position on the couch. John breathed out and finished preparing the tea, the motion helping to ease his anger. He hated that he still remembered how Sherlock liked his tea. He hadn’t made the man a cup in years, but some things can’t be forgotten, even with effort.

He set their mugs on the table, squeezing into the small space of cushion that Sherlock had left for him.

John watched him out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock gingerly sipped at his drink, lost in his own thoughts. Both startled at the loud, chaotic vibrations coming from Sherlock’s pocket. He sat up and stood, pacing the room with his phone glued to his face. John continued to watch him, his coat was still quite damp, but his hair had dried and puffed up from the lack of product remaining in the strands.

“John…”

He looked up into his friend’s pleading eyes and held in a groan, as he knew what was coming. John stood and grabbed himself a jacket from the coat rack. The detective helped his other arm into the jacket and dropped John’s boots beside him, a beaming grin on his face.

“Where are we going?” John asked him.

“There’s a warehouse three point seven two kilometers from where the last body had been dumped. I’m sure this time you’ll be excited to know we’ll have the chance to stop the murder from taking place, and if we’re lucky, we’ll also catch a member of this gang.”

“Alright,” John sighed as he reached for his keys.

“Don’t bother with that, I’ve got a cab out front,” Sherlock waved to the door.

“How do you already have a-? You know what, never mind. Let’s just go,” John said, pocketing just his phone and wallet instead. 

Sherlock rushed out and John followed, shutting his front door behind him. Indeed there was a cab in his driveway, the driver looking thoroughly pissed off for having waited for the detective to retrieve John. He shook his head. John knew he would never truly be strong enough to talk his way out of helping Sherlock, no matter the detriment that would likely come to him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I'm so grateful to all of you reading this and leaving kudos and comments, for real.  
> It really keeps me going, I appreciate it so much!  
> No real updates, just a thanks to you guys!

When one steps out from their home on a short-notice trip, there tends to be the implication that it won’t take very long, maybe the better part of a day at most. This did not apply to John - certainly not where Sherlock was involved. Just “stepping out” could mean anywhere from a few minutes to a few days. 

The last time John had stepped out with the detective, however, he had not considered the idea that their chase could cost him just over a week of consciousness. 

John awoke groggily in a hospital bed. The lights were out, so he intuited that it was night time. He pat his hands down his body in search of his phone. Looking around the room, he found the device lying on the nightstand beside the bed. John pressed the power button furiously to no avail; the thing was dead. 

He wiped a hand down his face. The only event he could recall from before he woke up here was that he had chased someone down the corridor of an abandoned warehouse, and then a sudden, intense pain in his head, which he could still feel if he did not actively ignore it.

His shifting and turning alerted his wakefulness to a nurse, who stepped forward from the hall to ask if he was in pain or if he needed anything.

John dug a few bills out of his wallet, which was laid next to his phone, and handed them to the nurse, who made to protest, but was cut off by John begging, “Could you please go to the gift shop and pick me up a phone charger?”

John rolled his eyes when the nurse giggled at him, the motion causing a splitting ache in his head. The nurse left him a couple tabs of painkiller before running off to perform the task.

With his headache quickly fading, he thanked the nurse for his mildly unreasonable request, then felt around the wall for an open outlet. He rested his head on the pillow, resigned to waiting a few minutes until his phone held enough charge to not immediately shut off again.

After those minutes, his phone flooded with beeps, chimes, and vibrations, giving him an idea of how long he’d been out cold. When he stared down at the date on his phone, he felt the blood throughout his body turn to ice. He’d been comatose from Monday last week, up until the present Tuesday. He paled, thinking about all he’d missed. He’d not responded to a multitude of Richard’s texts and calls, he’d not met up with him at the pub, he missed seeing Rosie…

The last one nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. Rosie! He just never showed up! Had anyone let her or David or Victoria know he was in the hospital? Did they think he’d given up on her?

John moved to get out of the bed, the pain in his head returning full-force, sending him crashing back down to the sheets. ‘It’s two in the morning...who would even be awak- Sherlock.’

He sent a message to the detective, hoping beyond hope he would fill him in on the details. John waited and waited for a response that never came. Since there was no one else to count on right now, he sorted through his messages, despite the migraine that the bright light in such a dim room created in the center of his skull.

The majority of his notifications were from Richard. They began as simple blurbs from his day, silly pictures, and the like, but quickly devolved into apologies for spamming his phone, reassurances that he would try to send fewer texts, and ending with questions of John’s health and wellbeing, offering whatever he could if John was struggling. His heart constricted thinking about how concerned Rich had been for John.

He knew the man wouldn’t be awake, but he sent him a text anyway. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been in the hospital. Don’t think I’ve been ignoring you and don’t stop sending me these.”

John was so stressed out that if it were not for a possible concussion, he would be crying his eyes out right now. Poor Rosie...he must have let her down…

A new wave of guilt spread through him when his phone went off with a message from Richard. ‘Damnit, he should be asleep. Did I wake him?’

“ **Fuck, are you alright? What happened? Do you need anything? I can call off work today and sit with you if you need?** ”

“Jesus, you shouldn’t even be awake right now. Besides, visiting hours don’t open for several more hours. I’ll be alright. I don’t want to make you miss work. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate your company, of course!”

“ **I was worried about you. You’re sure you’re okay?** ”

John physically shrugged. “I’ll live. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Now go to bed!”

“ **If you say so. Take care, John.** ”

He set his phone down and rubbed at his eyes. It was about three in the morning now, and Sherlock still had not responded. ‘May as well try to head back to sleep...’

~

John woke once more to a nurse checking his clipboard, then shuffling back out of the room. He sat up in his bed, the effort causing him a little less pain than it had the last time he tried.

“Hello.”

The sudden greeting caused John to jolt, a small pain hitting his cranium. He turned to find that he had a visitor.

“Sorry, are you alright?” Molly asked. 

John’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and with it, the pounding in his head dissipated. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Molly, what are you doing here?”

She pursed her lips and worried at the edge of her jumper’s sleeve. “Sherlock is….busy. I thought you’d appreciate some company after what happened.”

“Please, enlighten me. What the hell happened?” John questioned as he rubbed at the bandage on his head. 

Molly sighed, “You and Sherlock went out on a case. You were running after someone, but then another person showed up behind you and knocked you in the skull with a pipe.”

John grimaced. “Yeah...it feels like it…”

After a pause, Molly informed him, “You were out for a fair while. Rosie called me, saying you hadn’t come to visit her.” John’s heart sank, and it must have read on his face, so Molly supplied, “I told her you weren’t feeling well. I didn’t want to scare her with the actual situation, but I didn’t want her to think you’d forgotten about her!”

His throat made a miserable sound. “Thank you, Molly. I’m glad I have someone else thinking of her…”

“You should call her as soon as you can, John. I’m not sure how convincing I sounded to her. Try to do that today?”

John nodded, “You’re right, thank you…”

With that, Molly left. The next time that a hospital staff member passed by his room, John waved them down, telling them he was fit to be discharged. After a quick once-over from a doctor, he was given the standard painkiller and instruction on caring for his wound, then checked himself out and headed home. John was a bit pissed at the fact that Sherlock had been too busy to check up on him himself, but as usual, he provided his own excuse and easily forgave the detective. 

His home was cold, empty, the last signs of living within it from himself over a week ago. Tea mugs sat on the coffee table along with his book that he’d rushed to throw a bookmark into. Some days it got on his nerves just sitting here. Too many memories. Too many lies. 

John snapped out of this long enough to remember that he should call up David and Victoria. Anxiety filled him as the dial-tone sounded over and over. It was just past noon on a Tuesday, maybe they were busy at work…

“Hello?” Victoria answered. “Who is this?”

“Hey, it’s John. Sorry about not sh-”

“No. I don’t want to hear your excuses! You broke this poor little girl’s heart, John Watson!”

Having that confirmed stung, but not as much as her irrational anger. “I was IN THE HOSPITAL. IN A COMA. FOR OVER A WEEK. I can’t exactly plan on that and let you know that-”

He heard Victoria huff an annoyed laugh. “And how did you get into this coma? From following that mad detective around? That’s hardly any excuse!”

John furiously wanted to bite back, but she was entirely correct, damn her. “Look, just please let me see her, today, tomorrow, whenever you-”

“We let you visit every other Sunday, John. See you in two weeks!” she said sweetly, though the words were dripping with poison. “And if you try to show up before then, we’ll get the authorities involved!”

“I’ve-!” Too late. She hung up. Infuriating…

John put his head in his hands. How could he possibly make this up to Rosie?

He received a text, but he was hesitant to pick his phone up again. Luckily, it was from Rich. He was always a comforting presence…

“ **What hospital are you at?** ”

John quirked his brows at this. Had he meant to visit him?

“I actually checked myself out this morning, but I was at St. Bart’s.”

“ **Okay, did you find out what happened?** ”

“Got smacked in the head with a pipe.”

“ **Fuck. Was it Sherlock? Maybe I need to have a word with him...** ”

The implication of that statement created a turn in the man’s personality, but if John was being honest, it kind of excited him. While Sherlock was probably the correct person to blame, he wouldn’t tell this to Richard if he’d plan for violence.

“ **Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just know he’s been the one to hurt you so many times…** ”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, it was during a case, just some murderers, not Sherlock.”

“ **Fuck, they could have got you, John. Why do you do this? Why do you endanger yourself like this?** ”

John didn’t often get that reaction when telling people about his time with Sherlock. Most people found it brave or stupid, but Richard seemed genuinely distressed by his lifestyle. He had no idea how to reply to this. Couldn’t he see that John was a pathetic, later middle aged, man with hardly any friends or family? So what if it killed him, wasn’t he doing some good for the world?

He could tell he wouldn’t win an argument with that logic, so instead, John replied, “I’m tougher than I look. I’ve gone through plenty. This is nothing.”

“ **I like you, John. You’re important to me. Your death would be a tragedy.** ”

His heart stilled. He didn’t really matter that much to Richard, did he? It wasn’t as though John provided the man with more than a drinking buddy or someone to shoot a text to here and there, but it did ignite something in him to read the words.

“Thanks. No one’s ever actually said that before.”

“ **:( ...I can tell…** ”

John frowned down at his phone. “What do you mean?” He wasn’t that easy to read, was he?

“ **Your blog. You give so much of yourself to others, even when they treat you terribly. What do you do for yourself?** ”

John squirmed. He was plenty selfish, he thought. Looking around his home, John attempted to jog his memory for moments in which he was selfish. Much of the room’s furnishings had been picked out by Mary, except for the basic things he’d filled it with when he first moved in. He didn’t have strong opinions about decor, it was fine that most of what he lived in had been chosen by his deceased wife. He’d somewhat cheated on Mary, and that was selfish of him.

He’d become reclusive and suicidal despite there being a handful of people who cared about him, and some would claim that was selfish.

He thought of his time with Sherlock. John had certainly allowed others to be put in harm’s way or injured or killed in his haste to ensure Sherlock’s safety. That was...selfish... 

“I’ve done some pretty selfish shit, I can assure you.”   
  
“ **I didn’t ask about what you have done that’s selfish. We all do something selfish sometimes. Do you do anything to take care of yourself? Something that serves you more than it serves anyone else?** ”

John finally began to understand what he was getting at. He never did more than the bare minimum for himself. His life was that of a poorly trained dog, doing what he could just to stay alive, while he was passed between owners that were quick to give up on him. He wasn’t worth anything to himself. What did he deserve? Nothing.

“I guess I don’t. Not in a long while at least.”

“ **Are you feeling alright? I took the day off anyway. I could play nurse.** ”

John snapped from his deep contemplation into a fit of laughter. It was an immediately ridiculous message to read, but thinking about it, John quite liked the idea. 

“It’s not that serious, but if you’re dying for an excuse to come over…” John sent along another text with his address, hoping Richard would take the hint.

“ **I’ll be there in an hour :)** ”

John dropped his phone and hopped into the shower. The shirt and jacket he’d spent the week in were stained with his blood, a small amount of it had dried to his neck where the hospital staff hadn’t quite cleaned him up completely. He removed his bandages, feeling a tender spot with a few stitches, making sure he knew where it was before scrubbing shampoo through his hair. 

Once properly cleaned up and dressed in some comfortable jeans and a cardigan, he was faced with the state of his home. He didn’t leave it in the worst condition, but with the promise of Rich’s company, he could now see every little flaw. The television was caked in a layer of dust, the keyboard of his laptop was filthy, Sherlock had tracked a trail of mud along his carpet! 

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work fixing the details of his living room, then moved into the kitchen to wash up his dishes and clear the junk off the table. By the time he was finished, Rich should have been there ten minutes ago. ‘Jesus, he’ll be here any second…’

In the meantime, he checked his phone, his email, looked for something amusing on tv, then fixed his hair and reapplied a fresh bandage. He looked to the time again: half an hour late. John could’ve sworn Rich had mentioned living within a few blocks of the pub, which even with London traffic, wasn’t an hour’s drive away.

Another ten minutes later, the sound of a motor working its way down the street, soon followed by a knock, echoed from his front door. John jumped up and pulled the door open. Rich stood there, his long black, silver streaked hair flowing loose, his typical v-neck, leather jacket, and dark jeans clinging perfectly to his body. His grip tightened around a plastic bag.

“Hey,” Richard greeted, “sorry I’m so late.”

John looked down to the bag of takeout he carried with him. “That’s alright! It must have taken a little longer than you planned to pick that up?” John reasoned as he stepped back, allowing his friend inside.

“Actually...I might have gotten a bit lost on the way here,” he corrected sheepishly.

“Lost? I couldn’t have given you the wrong address, did I?” John pulled out his phone to check. No, it was right. How else would the man have made it to his door?

“It’s kind of embarrassing, what actually happened. I, uh….confused my rights and lefts, a bit.”

A smile spread across John’s face at the admission. “Really?”

Rich scratched at his cheeks, his eyes refusing to meet John’s, though he smiled as well. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know what goes through my head sometimes…”

Richard fully stepped in, then motioned to the bag. “You said you liked Italian right?”

John shut the door behind him, the waft of melted cheese and sauce causing his stomach to growl. “Yeah! I’m surprised you remembered that.” John led him to the kitchen, allowing him to place the food on the kitchen table. “It smells great, what’d you get?” 

“Lasagna, garlic bread. I figure you haven’t eaten well in a while,” he explained as he unpacked their meal. He had no idea just how right he was. John’s worry over his weight hadn’t disappeared, though he made a better effort to keep himself alive, at least. Even so, he felt incredibly spoiled by the gesture.

John took out some plates and forks and offered drinks as Richard dished their food. Once sorted, they returned to the living room, relaxing on the couch, and settling in with a bottle of wine. 

“You’re sure it’s alright to be drinking with your injury? You’re not taking any painkillers that might react with it? I know you’re the doctor here, but...” Rich worried.

John waved a hand while he swallowed his first bite. “I took it hours ago, it’s fine as long as you don’t drink it down with the pills.”

Rich continued to stare at him, but didn’t argue. They both dug in, the tv filling the silence as they ate. John finished almost embarrassingly quickly, turning to occupy himself with the wine. When Richard finished his plate, John stood and made to take his plate, stacking theirs together, but the man carefully took them from his hands.

“I think I can handle this, you sit back and relax,” he assured as he walked to the kitchen. It was nice to be taken care of…

Richard returned shortly, rejoining John on the couch. John could feel the wine begin to affect him as well as a flop sweat forming. Had he put on deodorant? 

Now that they were not occupied with eating, John focused on the man’s presence. When they met at the pub, Richard’s energy seemed to fill the room, bringing John a sense of calm despite there being many other people around them. In the cramped privacy of John’s home, he felt as though he was locked in a cage with a lion. Not that he felt he was in danger, but simply being in the small space, alone, with such an incredible and handsome man...anything could happen….

The pressure of it pushed down on John, surrounding him on all sides, suffocating him gently. There were no outside eyes on them. Just the two of them, sitting a mere three feet from each other, though they sat in such a way that their knees would bump if they adjusted themselves slightly. It was equally intoxicating and nerve wracking.

John pulled at his shirt collar a bit, hoping some airflow would help to ease the heat building underneath the layer of cloth.

“So, does it hurt?”

John returned his attention to his friend beside him. “I’m sorry? Oh, my head?”

Rich grinned, “No, when you fell from heaven... Yes, your head!”

John wheezed a nervous laugh at the joke, then answered, “Yeah, it’s fine now, as long as I don’t think about it.”

“Ah, sorry for bringing it up then…”

John rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, honestly!” He felt a drop of sweat roll down his neck and he stood. “Sorry, give me one moment?”

“‘Course!”

John shut the door to his bedroom behind him and worked off his cardigan. It was late November, yet he was sweating like mad! John blamed the wine and his body burning the carbs from his lunch, though in truth, it was likely due to Richard, just sitting there being...wonderful. He shook his head.

John unbuttoned his shirt and grabbed a can of deodorant, fingers crossed that Rich couldn’t hear him and catch on to his issue. As soon as he could confirm that he was dry and not wreaking of sweat, he buttoned himself back up, leaving his cardigan behind. 

Pulling the door open, John looked upon his friend, who had in his hand a frame that he had kept faced down on the side table. John clearly pictured the photo that his friend was staring at: John and Mary, holding onto Rosie soon after she was born. 

John’s heart functioned erratically, his body moving of its own accord to step up next to the man. His hand automatically reached out, shakily grabbing a hold of the frame. Richard willingly let go of the frame and John returned it to its face down position on the table, his eyes blinking and his limbs twitching as he stood.

“S-sorry, I thought it had...fallen over,” Rich stuttered. 

John looked to Richard’s downcast eyes and hangdog expression. He wasn’t upset with Richard. How could he be? No, what upset him was that his friend now knew about his daughter, a subject he still wasn’t ready to discuss with him, especially now that his relationship with Rosie may be even further strained…

John turned his gaze to his feet. He knew he was making the situation seem worse than it was, but the words wouldn’t come past his throat. A hand came up and rubbed at his forearm.

“I’m sorry…”

“It,” John choked, then stuttered, “It’s n-not your f-fault.” The hand on his arm continued the soothing motion. “It’s...difficult to t...talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m not owed an explanation.”

John pursed his lips. “Y-you are...but...later…”

“I won’t hold you to that,” Richard said, his arm retreating from John’s, instead pouring John another glass of wine, and handing it to him.

John forced a smirk to his face, taking the glass and having a sip before retaking his place on the couch. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The two eased back into a companionable silence, only to be interrupted by their commentary on what played on the television, laughing at each other’s jokes. John considered himself very lucky to have found Rich. He wouldn’t have made it to this point without him, but he could just as easily imagine himself coming out of the hospital, to an empty home, sitting in the dark with nothing but his thoughts for company. This is why he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t risk losing him. ‘Another way in which I’m being selfish,’ he reminded himself.

It was around 6pm when a text startled the two out of their calm. Richard checked his phone, sighed, closed his eyes, then pocketed it. 

“Sorry, I better get home now,” he told John.

‘He lives with a woman and two kids,’ Sherlock’s voice echoed in his head. John nodded.

They stood and made their way to the door. Richard pulled out a hair elastic, tying his hair into a low ponytail as he stepped outside. He spun around and bore his gaze straight into John’s eyes.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry later.”

John snorted, “Yes, thank you, dear.”

Rich chuckled and stroked a finger jokingly under John’s jaw - the touch creating a lingering burn on his skin - and pulled his leather gloves on. The chuckle relaxed into a bright smile and he shied away somewhat.

John almost took a step closer to him, but this became unnecessary when a strong pair of arms wrapped completely around him and held him close. His hands instinctively came up and rested on the man’s back. The sensation was dizzying, Richard’s broad chest and shoulders pressing into him firmly, John receiving a faceful of chest hair.

“I’m glad you’re alright, John.”

John felt a blush creep over his face. “Thanks.”

Richard pulled away, flashing John one more smile - the toothy grin sending a shiver down John’s spine - then mumbled, “Good night,” before walking down the sidewalk to where his motorcycle was parked. John watched from the door as Rich fastened a helmet to his head. John jumped when the visor glinted in his direction, Richard catching on to the fact that he’d been staring. He held up a couple of fingers in salute, started his engine, and took off down the road.

John shut the door, a fond smile across his reddened face. He skipped his way back to the kitchen, ready to reheat and devour the rest of their leftovers.

As he shoveled it down, he thanked the gods for throwing the long haired man into his path. How could he ever repay him, he wondered. He leaned back in his chair, his belly full. ‘He has a sweet tooth...maybe I could bake him something?’

Remembering his failed attempts at cooking, he nearly dismissed the idea. ‘Ian!’

John pulled out his phone and shot Hugo a text. “Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if Ian was still offering cooking lessons?”

By the time he finished cleaning up after himself, he got his reply. “Of course, always! You good for the 4th?” 

John agreed, and the date was set for next Friday.


	16. Chapter 16

A few days had passed since John came home from the hospital. He still agonized over the next time he visited his daughter, but it would be many days before that came to pass.

It was that Friday afternoon when Greg gave him a call.

“Hey, Greg.”

“John, I heard you were finally awake. Y’alright?”

“I’ve been awake for most of this week now, but yeah, I’m alive.”

Greg growled, “I would’ve thought Sherlock would let me know sooner.”

John frowned. “I haven’t even heard from him. How’s the case going? Did we get anything out of this?”

“We’ve come up to a dead end, I’m afraid.”

“Right. Great.” John ran a hand over his face. So he got clobbered for nothing?

“Can’t say I’m too happy about it either. How’d reconciling with Sherlock go? You two all put back together yet?”

John put a few seconds thought into it. “As much as we can be, I think.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask for. You up for a drink tonight?”

He hummed. He had set some rules for himself when it came to drinking: one beer a week, unless he went socializing. Technically he’d had the better half of a bottle of wine already this week, and he didn’t plan on giving up his Saturday with Rich…

“I wouldn’t be opposed, though I’m going out to a pub tomorrow night as well…”

“What for? I thought you had the drinking under contro-.....Ahhh! I get it! You’re going to go see your new boyfriend?”

“Greg, please...”

“Sorry, your ‘friend,’ right...How ‘bout this? What if I join you guys tomorrow?”

John inhaled sharply. “I’d really rather you not! I’ll go out tonight, it’s fine!”

“Ohhh c’mon, if he’s just your mate, what’s wrong with adding me in?”

“I’m not discussing this with you, right now, over the phone…”

“Great! See ya tonight then?” Greg exclaimed.

“...Yeah, see ya tonight, Greg.” John hung up and rolled his eyes. There wasn’t anything to talk about. Richard and John had only known each other for a month, it wasn’t like that…

~

They met at their usual hangout that night. John sipped on a stout, the taste of the dark beer beginning to grow on him.

“Something new tonight, huh?” Greg pointed out.

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” John defended, though his face betrayed the statement. Maybe it wasn’t the taste he enjoyed, but the familiar, pleasantly bitter smell of it that inspired him to order it. 

“Is that what your ‘friend’ drinks?” Greg said smugly. 

John sighed. Yeah...yeah it was, but he didn’t want to encourage the head detective in his prying, so he remained silent.

“C’mon, John. I’m your friend! Who else can you talk about this guy with? Sherlock?”

John shuddered at the thought. “Actually, I just got back in touch with an old friend recently. I’d sooner tell him all about it!”

“Ohhh, I see how it is! It was gonna be my treat tonight, but you can pay for your own disgusting beer!” Greg exclaimed in feigned offense. 

John gave him a tired smile. Well...Sherlock had already given Greg bits and pieces, he may as well have a better picture of Rich, in case the two actually meet one day. “His name is Richard.”

Greg’s full attention was on him as John took his phone out from his pocket to pull up a picture. Richard had sent him plenty to choose from, many of which John had saved onto the device. 

He chose one that a coworker had taken of him - his hair down, his coveralls’ sleeves tied around his waist, and a light patch of grease on his cheek - and slid his phone into Greg’s hands. 

“Woah. How’d you meet this guy?” Greg said, continuing to stare at the screen.

“I met him the night that...Sherlock...rejected me. Gave me his handkerchief so I could wipe the blood off of my face.”

Greg hummed, his eyes still glued to John’s phone. When John finally noticed the detective swiping through the pictures, he snatched the device out of his hands.

“Excuse you! I only wanted to show you the one picture to give you an idea of what he looked like!”

“Yeah, you’ve sure given me some ideas, alright…”

John shoved his phone back into his pocket, grumbling as he put his face into his hands to hide his embarrassment. He didn’t even want to think of how many pictures of the man Greg had swiped through...he knew he had a lot…

“Sorry, you were saying?”

John groaned. “I believe I’ve said enough! Nosey bugger…”

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Greg suggested.

“I’m sorry, what!? What exactly am I feeling, Greg? You have some sort of psychic ability now? You know how I’m feeling better than I do?”

Greg shook his head. “How long have you known the guy, John, a few weeks? And you’ve already got about fifty pictures of him on your phone!”

“Eighteen,” John corrected.   
  


“Yeah, ‘cause that’s not excessive. Also, not helping your case, mate.”

John was beginning to lose steam. “Look, it’s not like that…” It was difficult to say much more than that. It was honest. They weren’t a couple, and it was fairly likely they never would be. Sherlock implied that he had a wife and kids, what did John know? Rich was nice. So nice. Nicer than anyone had ever really been to him, but maybe he was misinterpreting that kindness as something more. John couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest when he so much as thought of him, but perhaps it was purely infatuation. Richard treated John with a gentle respect that no one else in his life did, so his heart had latched onto that, making him think it was something more when it obviously wasn’t.

“John? Why not try?”

He snorted, “Yeah, that went so well the last time…”

“Well, that’s Sherlock. This is just a normal guy, right?”

“And Mary was just a normal woman at first…” John huffed.

Greg grew annoyed with his deflections. “Quit letting your past decide what you do with your life, John! You’re better than this! Just give it a chance.”

Greg was right, but the sentiment didn’t make things any easier. Nothing, absolutely nothing in John’s life had gone as planned. Why would he start being hopeful now? It was so difficult to stay positive. Too many things were against him...

“You’re...open to the idea that there’s something there, right John?” Greg pushed.

John shut his eyes and lowered his head. “He...might have a wife and kids…”

“Both you and I have had a wife and kids. Things don’t always work out!”

“I’m not some homewrecker! If he’s happy, I’m not willing to step in. I don’t even know if...if he’s…” John trailed off. He couldn’t say the word.

“If he swings that way?” Greg supplied.

John nodded and forced himself to swallow down a mouthful of dark ale. Damn it, it was still a nightmare talking about the subject. He wasn’t going to get anywhere like this…

“He sends you these, yeah?” his friend questioned.

“Yes! I don’t stalk him and take pictures…”

“...I bet he’s interested…”

“Again, you said that about Sherlock!” John reminded him through grit teeth.

“Let me meet him! I’ll ask him myself!”

“NO!”

“Give me his number! Let me go to the pub with you guys!”

“Greg, please…I appreciate that you want to help, but...”

“How about this,” the head detective posed, “I won’t sit with you guys. I won’t even stop by to chat. I’ll just sit around you, somewhere nearby, and give you an outside perspective.”

He stared down into his drink. It wasn’t the worst thing Greg could do, and John was already aware that Sherlock was essentially doing this… “Alright. Sure.”

John texted Greg the pub’s address, and when they finished their drinks, they called it a night. 

~

John paced the sidewalk outside the pub. His arms folded across his chest. It was foggy this Saturday night, causing John to thoroughly regret leaving his jacket at home. A button up and a cardigan wasn’t suitable for the weather, but after nearly suffering heat stroke during his last meeting with Richard, he decided to wear a little less than he typically would.

He watched as Greg walked down the road toward him, giving him a little wave. Greg nodded in response, still too far to initiate conversation. John turned his head to check up the street, finding exactly what he hoped he wouldn’t: Rich was arriving at the same time.

Making eye contact with the head detective, John nodded his head toward the alley beside the pub. The older man rolled his eyes, but followed along, pretending he wasn’t there to meet him, but to lean against the alley’s wall and have a quick smoke.

“John!”

He whipped around to greet the man. “Hey!”

Richard smiled down at him, though his eyes minutely shifted to the suspicious looking man in the alley. 

John reigned in his attention, “So, h-how are you doing? D-did they miss you at work on T-tuesday?”

“They did….are you cold? You’re shivering,” Richard observed.

John was cold, sure, but the shivering was due to how nervous he was. He wasn’t stealthy and neither was Greg, and he agonized over the idea that Richard may catch them in the act. Freezing his ass off was a good enough cover. He nodded his head, gulping down the anxiety.

“Yeah, I suppose it’s a little cold out tonight…” John added.

“Here.” Richard shrugged out of his jacket, placing it around John’s shoulders. ‘It’s a damn furnace in here!’ John thought to himself as he shifted under the weight of it.

He swallowed. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Rich assured, his eyes flitting up to glare at the man in the alley who was NOT doing a particularly good job of hiding the fact that he was ogling the two. John felt Richard’s hand press to the center of his lower back and lead him inside the pub. “I thought you said the cold didn’t bother you too much? Maybe we should put off camping until Spring?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe intolerance to the weather just comes with age?” John laughed nervously as he ignored Greg’s spluttering coughs from the alley.

Stepping inside the pub instantly brought relief from the chill, the heat spreading across John’s face. Taking their seats, Graham wordlessly slid them their pints, and the evening went on as it usually did, despite the fact that Greg was blatantly staring at them from a booth. After Graham returned from handing the detective his pint, him and Rich held a silent conversation on the subject using eye motions and nods. ‘This isn’t going to go well,’ John thought.

“How’s your head?” Rich asked him, attempting to ignore the situation.

“What? Oh! It’s healing up...The stitches should be coming out in a few weeks. It’s a shame they had to shave a patch of hair off. I’ll have to wait for it to grow in to get another haircut to even it out,” John babbled. He’d already been worried about his hair thinning, that’s why he’d grown it out a bit in the first place.

“I quite enjoyed how it looked short. Not that it doesn’t look nice now! Even with the patch missing. Sorry,” Rich babbled back, turning to busy his mouth with his drink instead.

John chuckled at his fumbling, “It’s all fine.”

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Richard to become irritated with the detective. He leaned in close to John and whispered, “Don’t look now, I think that guy in the trench coat behind us is following you. He’s been staring all night…”

John panicked, refusing to turn and look over at his nosey friend. What was he going to tell him?

“Do you think he’s involved in that case you’ve been working on?”

Finally shifting around in his stool, John peered over at Greg, who quickly turned his head away. How had this man made the position of head detective? John braced himself. “Yes... He is involved.”

Richard tensed beside him, his hand springing out to take a hold of John’s arm. “We can leave out the back if we have to. I’m not letting that bastard hurt you.”

John furrowed his brows in confusion, then shook his head. “Oh! No! I didn’t mean it like that! That’s Scotland Yard’s head detective! He’s not going to hurt me. Hold on one second!” John stood and Richard dropped his hand so that John could walk over to the detective on his own. Richard made no move to follow him, though he watched like a hawk for any sign of a threat. 

Greg peaked at John out of the corner of his eye as he made his way over. John stood next to him with his arms crossed, the motion causing Richard’s jacket to slip from his shoulder a little.

“I think the jig is up, Greg. What now?” John whispered.

“What? I was doing my best! What happened?”

“Your ‘best’ is depressing. I told him your occupation, so he knows that we know each other,” John hissed, then paused to groan miserably. “I don’t want to lie to him, but I also don’t want him to think that I don’t trust him. Please, help me out here!”

“I’ll do my best,” Greg responded, squaring his shoulders.

John grimaced. “Please do better than you do with stealth…” He noticed Richard’s vigilance and waved for him to come over and join them.

Richard grabbed their drinks and walked toward them, John sliding himself into the booth opposite the detective to make room for the long haired man. He set their glasses on the table, but made no move to sit with them.

Greg decided to make the first move, standing up and stretching out a hand. “Hey, I’m Greg Lestrade. Nice to meet you!”

Richard appeared to tower over the man with a dark look on his face, though in reality he was maybe only a few inches taller, and maybe it was the dim lighting that suggested the stormy expression. He reluctantly extended his hand to shake Greg’s. “Richard.”

“Nice to meet you, Richard,” the detective tried again, but the man remained stoic. John was surprised by the display, as the Richard he encountered tended to be open, if a little awkward here and there. It reminded John of how the man responded to his family poking fun at him on his social media.

“Sorry about stepping in on your guys’ night, mate. John told me that he didn’t want me meddling, but curiosity got the better of me. I just worry about him sometimes,” Greg said, ending by looking John earnestly in the eye. 

“I don’t need anyone worrying over me…” John fought weakly.

Richard gave him an unimpressed expression, then gently ran a finger over his bandage, saying, “Like hell you don’t!” Greg laughed hysterically at the joke, then slid back into his seat. Richard followed suit, sitting next to John.

“So yeah, I didn’t mean to stalk you guys. Just wanted to make sure John wasn’t running off to get himself killed yet again.”

John sent Greg a glare, but kept his mouth shut. The man knew he wasn’t in any danger here, but John couldn’t let Rich know the true reason. “Yes, alright, I get it. I’ll be more careful,” he said as he rolled his eyes.

Richard began to warm slightly as the two got to know each other, their conversation often at John’s expense, though the man brushing shoulders with him made sure to let him know it was all in good fun, and not to make him feel bad. He recalled the banter of Sherlock and Mary, which always involved putting John down, though those two didn’t care much to reassure him that they were joking...He’d internalized many of their jabs, and he was glad that Richard refused to add to that, even if it broke the conversation’s flow a bit.

Overall, the night went well. Greg didn’t harass John too much, and the two were friendly enough that they got on just fine, easing some of John’s fears. 

A few hours in, Greg began to slow down. He checked his watch, then called it a night for himself. “Alright, I’m out of your guys’ hair. I’ll see ya around, John. Rich.”

“Greg,” Richard nodded.

“Good night, Greg, good luck with the case,” John waved.

The detective mumbled to himself as he exited. John snorted at the man, then looked up at Richard, who stared down at him warmly. “Is something wrong?”

“You have some very interesting friends,” Richard told him. 

John rested his jaw on his fist and sighed, “You don’t know the half of it!” 

Both of them remained squished together in the booth, gaining a few funny looks from Graham, though he didn’t seem to mind all that much. The more they drank, the more their legs and arms brushed against each other. There was a moment where John felt a wave of exhaustion come over him, and his drunken brain had suggested he lay his head on the larger man’s shoulder. He did his best to keep it together, they were only friends after all.

When it came time to part, Richard stayed, helping John flag down a cab.

“Aaaaw, you didn’t have to do that! How sweet!”

“I just want you to get home safe. Good night, John.”

John sunk into the cab, content with where he was in his life. Greg was obviously being silly when he suggested the man was attracted to him. They were friends, good friends.

Though this assumption was put under fire after Greg texted John the next day.

“He’s into you, mate. For sure.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” John texted back as he nursed a hangover. He did appreciate the detective wanting to serve as his wingman, but he’d not led him in the right direction up to now.

“You have no idea how blind you are. He looked like he was going to rip my head off when he caught me staring in the alley. And he gave you his jacket!? C’mon mate, you’re not stupid.”

John chose not to reply. Greg could go on believing whatever he wanted.

~

Pots, pans, and various other dishes clattered as John watched Ian prepare his work area. Looking around, he could tell that the chef truly had a passion for the kitchen. Boy, was Hugo lucky…

“What do you like?”

John was startled out of his thoughts, “Sorry?”

“Do you have an idea of what you want to learn how to cook?” Ian asked him as he continued his arrangement. John bit his lip. Should he have done something to prepare? He really didn’t know where to start.

“Um...sweets, I suppose? Maybe some biscuits or something?” John proposed, scratching the back of his head.

“John Watson, quit picking at that wound!”

His arm quickly fell back to his lap. “I swear I wasn’t this time. Look, I’m a doctor, it’s fi-” He flinched as Ian pretended to swat him with a wood spoon, ever grateful that he didn’t actually go for it. Ian’s face softened and he pat John on the shoulder. 

“Sweets...biscuits! I thought you wanted to learn to cook a meal!” Ian snorted.

“I do! At some point...I actually...I wanted to make something as a gift for someone…” John admitted.

“Oooo! Is it for someone special?” Ian asked sentimentally. 

“Yes. I mean! Y-yes, but he’s...it isn’t like...that!” he squeaked out as his face flushed.

“Right. Okay! Well, I think I know just the thing! Have you ever made candy before?” John shook his head in the negative. “Alright then.”

John twiddled his thumbs as he watched the shorter man pull out a tall pot and a glass baking dish. “What do you have in mind?”

“Crunchies! Honeycomb! It’s quite simple, but you have to be thoroughly prepared!”

“Thoroughly prepared?”

“Yes, there comes a point where you must act quickly, lest you ruin it or hurt yourself!”

John gulped. “That sounds a little...too advanced for me.”

“Nonsense! It’s very simple! Here, start measuring out what I tell you to,” Ian instructed, shoving measuring cups and spoons into John’s hands. 

John startled when he was chastised for measuring out the sugar in the “liquid” measuring cup (‘There’s two different kinds????’), but otherwise had little trouble in his task. There weren’t that many ingredients, how could one fuck it up? Ian stirred up the ingredients, minus a heaping tablespoon of baking soda, then turned the flames up on the burner and walked away from the pot.

“Alright, when the candy thermometer reads one hundred and fifty celsius, you’re going to take it off the heat,” motioned to the stove’s knob, “dump in your baking soda,” pointing to the spoon, “and very quickly whisk it as it rises, then pour it into this dish,” he ended by holding up the dish and setting it back down on the counter.

“Oh? Is that the hard part then?” John asked.

“Yes! It is! Be very careful! Remember, it’s one hundred and fifty degrees! It will BURN if it touches you, so best not to let that happen!”

John nodded, moving to stand in front of the pot. It terrified him slightly to suddenly be in charge. He reached for the whisk, to which Ian warned him not to stir, even if he wanted to. Waiting for the mixture to reach the proper temperature seemed to take forever. To think people did this for fun!

When it finally reached one fifty, he grabbed the baking soda and dumped it in. All at once the mixture expanded. John panicked and grabbed the whisk, stirring rapidly.

“The fire! You might want to turn that off!” Ian suggested as he took the thermometer from the pot. John did so, muttering a curse, then went back to whisking. “The pan! Pour it into the pan! Quickly now or it will harden!”

John rushed to tip the pot over the glass dish, the yellow tar flopping out of the pot. Ian came over to help him scrape the remaining bits out of the pot.

“It hardens quickly, so you want to work fast with it!”

Ian finished up his scraping, and John returned the pot to the stove. ‘That wasn’t quite so bad…’

John startled when Ian clapped him on the back. “You did a great job with it! I showed that one to my nephew last week, and bless his heart, he was jumping all over the place in a panic!”

John laughed at the anecdote. “Thanks, I like to think I have myself a little more put together than a young boy!”

“Oh, don’t think I’m disparaging you, John. I’m told I act like a mother hen at times, but it just means that I like you, lad,” Ian finished with a final clap on the back as he walked the pot over to the sink. John grinned to himself. 

After an evening of unloading stories about the absent Hugo, it was time to add chocolate to their creation. 

Ian slid the dish over to him, the yellow tar, now turned into a hard brittle. “Now, take this ladle and give it a few taps. And try not to break the dish!” John tapped lightly at the surface. “Alright, maybe a little harder than that!”

John gave a swift, forceful tap to the substance and the brittle shattered. He continued until the pieces were small enough to fit in one’s mouth. Afterwards, the pieces were dumped into some melted chocolate that Ian had prepared, and were thoroughly coated.

“If you don’t cover it completely, the moisture in the air will dissolve the honeycomb underneath, so go wild!”

Hours later, when the honeycomb was completed, John proudly held onto his creation. “Thank you so much, Ian. I know it wasn’t quite what you had in mind…”

Ian waved him off. “It’s never the wrong time to learn how to make gifts. There’s something about handmade gifts that hit one in a way that bought gifts do not. I hope your special person enjoys them!”

John nodded, beaming. “I’ll let you know how they like it. Thank you again!”

The next night, John handed a portion of the candy he’d made to Richard, who was all too happy to take it. Maybe Ian was right about handmade gifts? Or he was just that much of a sweet tooth. 

“Is it alright if I give some to my nephews? They love these. I promise I’ll be eating the majority of it!”

John laughed, telling him it was his, he could do what he liked with it.

Richard later sent him a photo, showing off his nephews happily coating themselves in the chocolate. “ **Thank you, John. You made all of our nights!** ”

He smiled down at the text, then double checked his own fridge, a portion of the treat still in his possession. Tomorrow, he’d finally see Rosie again. He felt the need to bring her something. Hopefully she’d enjoy it as well...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, after next week's chapter I might take a couple weeks off from updating, but the next chapter is about 10k, so hopefully that's a good compensation!   
> Hope y'all are enjoying your holidays, and thanks so, so much for all the wonderful comments! I'm so flattered

John groomed himself meticulously, to a degree he often reserved for girlfriends...or a night out with Sherlock...or Richard...or someone who was mad with him. It was likely to be the last option this morning, since he was going over to David and Victoria’s place to beg for Rosie’s forgiveness. No, he didn’t entirely blame himself for missing his last visit, but this did nothing to stifle the guilt he felt, thinking about how miserable his little girl must have been for him to have never shown up.

He grabbed his honeycomb and Molly’s gift and rushed out the door. The drive over was unremarkable, but tense due to the thoughts flooding his brain. Would Rosie understand? Would she be so upset that she would cease to think of John as her father? Oh, he deserved it didn’t he? He screwed everything up for her, and this was no different!

His stomach began to ache as he pulled up. He had to be brave. No amount of moping for himself would make his daughter truly forgive him. John grabbed the gifts and walked up the stone path to the house. Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell and waited for a response.

David answered the door, his eyes immediately glued to the bandage and gauze wrapped around John’s head. His brows furrowed and he sighed, letting John walk in. They made no further exchange as John walked his way down to Rosie’s bedroom. Victoria glared at him as he passed the kitchen. John noted how she was very far along in her pregnancy, likely ready to give birth in the coming weeks. 

John came face to face with a closed door with a smattering of stickers. He braced himself, then knocked. A miserable muttering came from the other side, breaking John’s heart to pieces. He knocked again. “Honey? Are you okay?”

The door suddenly cracked open, and small, watery blue eyes looked up at him. The door opened wider, and Rosie wrapped her arms around his hips. John bent down to his knees, so that they could better hold each other. He pressed his face against her little head and held her close. “Oh Rosie, I missed you so much…”

Rosie sobbed into his chest, her fists balling into his shirt and pinching his skin, but he made no move to adjust her. She deserved to get this out. When John’s knees couldn’t take much more, he picked her up and walked into her room, taking a seat with her in his lap on the bottom bunk. He smoothed her hair down and rubbed her back in hopes of calming her down. She was downright inconsolable, to the point where John felt like he was about to join in her sobbing.

A couple of false starts later, Rosie tore herself away from his chest. “Daddy...I was s-so worried you, you didn’t w-want me anymoooore!” She smashed her face back into his chest.

John wiped his tears away, doing his best to shove down the ache in his heart. “Sweetheart, why would you think that? I love you more than anything in the world. You’ve been my world since the day you were born, and nothing can change that!”

Her reply was muffled by a wail against John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, please try that again, honey…”

“I’ve d-done something to m-make you HATE me!”

“Rosie, you’ve done nothing wrong! Even if you were to do something to make me upset, I would never just leave you without a word. We would talk it out, alright? I love you, sweetie…”

“B-but...I’m...you’re not my daddy…”

Tears poured down his face, the floodgates broken from her admission. He tried to dry his eyes on his sleeve, his voice croaky as he pressed on, “No, maybe I’m not...but Rosie, I love you just as much as if I was. It doesn’t matter whose child you are. In my heart, you are MY daughter.”

Rosie was left speechless, her sobs slowly dying down. He hadn’t fully eased her fears, but he wouldn’t push it. John truly wished the transition of her life could have resolved easily, without all the pain she was currently going through, but he knew better than to expect that. He knew his daughter. She needed her space sometimes.

She quieted down, her cries relaxing into whimpers. John continued to hug and rock her in his arms.

“What happened?”

“Hm?”

Rosie tried again. “What happened to your head? Molly said you were sick…”

John shifted her in his arms. “I got in a little accident. I was helping Sherlock, then I was in the hospital for a bit, but I’m all better now! I didn’t mean to not show up for our last visit. I got into that accident, and I was asleep for a few days.”

Rosie reached out a hand and touched the gauze. John sorrowfully smiled down at her. She worried over him too much...Maybe he owed it to her to avoid putting himself in harm's way from now on, same as he had promised to Greg and Rich. Maybe his days helping Sherlock on his cases were officially over.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she muttered. 

“I am too…” he smiled.

Rosie continued to lean against John, her face utterly morose. They remained in silence for a good while, until Rosie met his eyes.

“Tell me about mommy?”

John pursed his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about Victoria, my dear…”

She shook her head violently, John pulling her face back to his chest so that she didn’t hurt herself. “Not her...MOMMY. My mommy…”

‘Mary?’ John tensed a bit. He didn’t talk about her. He hadn’t talked about her in years. If anything, he’d given some hints of her lighter side to his daughter - who was he to pretend her mother never existed? - but there were many details that John never bothered to tell her. John had moved past her (for the most part, he refused to go to therapy ever again after last time), but now he was coming to understand that Rosie hardly knew anything about the woman. Her pictures had stayed up around their home - until Rosie had moved out - but what was a face without a story?

He bit his lip. How could he go about this? Where did he even start? Rosie knew her as “mommy,” but to even introduce a name was difficult. Did he tell her the full truth? Half truths? What John had thought was the truth up until a month after their wedding? 

“Please? I want to know more about her…” Rosie said, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. John was screwed. He beat himself up for not preparing for this talk sooner.

“Ah, Rosie...your mother...was special. Uh…” he looked around the room, too nervous to continue.

“What made her special?

No, Rosie was decidedly too young to know the full truth. That, and John couldn’t currently handle talking about all that Mary had lied about. There had been a reason why he chose to ignore her past, and that was because it was difficult to think about, let alone explain to their daughter. Her daughter…

“Let me try to start from the beginning...I met Mary after...Sherlock and I...had a misunderstanding. Though, her name hadn’t always been Mary. No, her first name was Rosamund, Rosie.” 

She beamed at the new knowledge, and John continued, “Of course, she later gave that name to you. I think, in a way, she wanted you to live the life that she never had.”

“What was mommy’s life like?” she asked. John paused to compose himself. This was harder than he thought it would be.

“I believe she had a very difficult life. A very troubling life,” John said, not wanting to reveal the truth - as much of it as he had learned about - but also entirely against the idea of feeding his little girl complete lies. 

“It must have been hard,” Rosie acknowledged. John was thankful she couldn’t see the expression that flashed over his face at the statement, something between discomfort and unconvinced. 

“Yes, it must have...When we met, we worked at the same hospital. We would take our breaks together and talk. She was...interesting. Very funny. It was sometimes difficult to tell when she was being serious and when she was joking. Uh…”

He peered down at Rosie for a moment. The red had cleared from her blue eyes, her tears vanished. John brushed the blonde strands out of them. She already looked so much like her, especially her nose and pouting lips. One day she was going to know the full truth...would she hate herself for the actions of her mother, whom she’d hardly spent some months with as a baby?

“Mary didn’t care much for other people. She liked to be on her own, but she seemed to have a soft spot for me, and when she later met Sherlock, she quite liked him as well…”

“A love triangle!” Rosie interjected.

“No! No...no, I don’t think it was that, no,” John corrected, though in reality, he had been jealous of the two’s relationship fairly often. When those two were in the room together, he felt that he faded into the background. Before the wedding, he’d chalked it up to his love for them both, but when Mary’s true nature had been revealed, he felt so disconnected from them both. They must have known each other better than John knew either of them…

“No, they were friends. As much as they could be. Uh…”

“How did she die?”

John’s mouth shut and his muscles tensed. No, it was fine...he’d gotten over it… Once he managed to ease up, he took a deep breath. “She was helping Sherlock on an investigation. She got hurt. Badly…”

Rosie moved off of his lap and flopped into a seated position next to John. She crossed her legs dutifully and locked eyes with him. “Like your head?”

“Like my…?” John reached a hand up to feel his head for a moment, then when his fingers brushed the gauze it clicked. “Y-yes. Like my...like my head.”

“Mommy died helping Sherlock...but what if you died helping Sherlock?” she wondered aloud. Her face fell, the tears welling up in her eyes once more. 

John didn’t know what to say to that. The sheer number of times he’d almost died when getting involved with Sherlock forced him to remain silent. He couldn’t do this anymore, not at all. Things were different now. His life was full of people who cared whether he lived or died. He couldn’t stand to be responsible for hurting them in such a significant manner.

“Rosie, the cases are done,” John told her with finality. “I’m not going on any more investigations with Sherlock. I’m done. It isn’t worth it to me if you or anyone else will worry over me. I promise I will take care of myself. I won’t leave you alone.”

Rosie hugged his arm, and John ran his fingers through her hair. In order to lighten the mood somewhat, John decided to ask about how her life had been the last few weeks. She had much to say, but not in her usual vigor. The shift in personality worried John, but surely it would not be the last change he saw in her. She was a growing girl, and one day she would be far different from who she was today. John hated to think of the future, but ignoring it did not mean it would stop coming.

“What’s that?” Rosie asked, pointing to John’s bag that laid utterly forgotten on the floor.

“Ah! I brought some presents. Something from Molly, and something from me,” he informed as he dug around for them. He pulled out a pair of mittens, knitted especially to go with the scarf Molly had knit her, and handed them over.

“Yay! I hope I get a cap next!” She slid them onto her little hands and kept them there. It was comfortably warm inside the house, realistically, but John knew well how Rosie had to put on all her new clothes as soon as she could. 

John then handed her the other bag, with the sweets he’d made with Ian. “I made these for you sweetheart. I hope you like them!”

A mitten was slipped off so that her small fingers could grab a hold of a chocolate covered lump without making too much of a mess. Rosie took as big a bite as she could, understanding it was chocolate, but startled at the crumbling of the toffee. She worked it in her mouth, no doubt sticking to her teeth. John fidgeted and bounced his leg. Rich told him that him and his nephews enjoyed it, but maybe he was just being nice to him…

She then shoved the rest of the piece in her mouth and tried to work out another piece when John gently took the bag from her. “Let’s save the rest for after you’ve had dinner, okay?”

“It’s really good! Thank you, daddy,” she said, trying to sneak the bag from him for another. John huffed a laugh and placed it on a nearby table, Rosie giggling her way out of punishment for being caught.

With that, the day’s visit came to a close. John kneeled on the ground in front of Rosie and took her by the shoulders. “Rosie, I love you. You’ve not done anything wrong. I will continue to visit you every single day that I am able to. Remember that, alright?” She nodded, and received a kiss on the forehead. “Good girl. Take care, see you in a couple of weeks, okay?”

John made his way out of her room, a weight lifted from his chest. Unfortunately, as he passed by the kitchen, Victoria called to him, “John, would you please come talk to us for a minute?” He sighed and stepped in to find Victoria and David sat at the dining table in the corner. A chair was pulled out for him to sit between them - most likely ready to interrogate him - but he instead chose to lean himself against the counter, a fair few feet away from them, arms folded.

“We need to talk!” Victoria hissed. After a proper look at her, John noted that she appeared disheveled. David similarly looked quite exhausted and a little unkempt, compared to how he typically saw him. Late stages of pregnancy...they were probably losing their minds over their upcoming new arrival.

“And what exactly do we NEED to talk about?” John asked them. 

David started, “You show up here smelling of booze, you vanish without a trace for a week, then you have the nerve to show up here and expect us to look past it!? We’ll get straight to the point, John: We don’t like you. We don’t trust you. If the court hadn’t given you visitation rights, we wouldn’t even begin to tolerate you.”

John glared at him. “You think I enjoy this arrangement? Do you think I prefer only getting to see my fucking daughter once every two weeks? To have that taken from me just because I’ve been in an accident? Shame on me for falling into a coma! Shame on me for spending one night a week at a bar so that I don’t blow my brains out! And shame on me for wanting to make it up to MY daughter when I’ve let her down. It isn’t your place. It isn’t your place to be upset with me for this! None of these would be issues if you hadn’t taken Rosie away from me, don’t you see that!?”

David rubbed at his tired eyes while Victoria stared him down in silence. John shook his head. “Look at you two. Do you actually believe you’re doing her any good, taking her from her family to live with you?”

“She’s MY daughter, John we’ve been over this! And so what if you’re upset about it? She’s MY kid! I’ll care for her however I see fit! If that means keeping you away, then I will!”

“Can’t you see she’s miserable here? It’s been months and she’s not used to living here with you. Has she even opened up to you at all? Does she even care enough to call you her parents?”

“That brat doesn’t have a polite bone in her body! She can BE miserable! We’re fucking miserable just having her! And it’s your fucking fault, John. You did a TERRIBLE job raising her! Rosie is just a-” David cut off as his gaze trailed to the hall. 

John sighed, then turned to where David watched, finding his little girl in low spirits. He paced over to her, then picked her up into his arms. John rocked her as quiet whimpers escaped her lips. 

“Rosie, honey, he didn’t mean that,” Victoria nearly begged. Rosie sniffled into the crook of John’s neck.

It hurt John to think about it, but he knew he’d have to step up to fix this mess that the couple created. He rested his chin over Rosie’s shoulder so that he could get a good look at them, looking to each other in drained dismay. 

John cleared his throat. “Rosie, sweetie, you know your parents love you.”

“No they don’t! They hate me! And I hate them!” John watched Victoria bring a hand over her distraught expression, David reaching out to console her.

“They’ve never had a child before, Rosie. They don’t know how to take care of you, and that worries them, because they have another on the way.”

Her head came out of his neck and looked over at her parents, who stared back at her with sad, but open expressions, hoping that she would listen to reason. Rosie turned her face back away from them. “They took me away...I want to go home…”

Victoria stood and strided across the room. “Rosie, darling, we just want to be your family. We know we can’t replace John, but we want you to open up to us, we want you to feel welcomed here! This is your home!” Tears poured from the woman’s eyes, her dark hair sticking to her cheeks. 

David got to his feet, guiding his wife back to her seat and rubbing her shoulders. “I’m sorry for what I said. I truly didn’t mean it. I haven’t got much sleep recently, and I get irritated…”

“That’s not an excuse for taking it out on her,” John pointed out.

“No, it isn’t, you’re right. Rosie, I know you’re having a hard time adjusting. I know you miss your old living situation. We’re trying, because we love you. Just please, give us a chance? We can be your family if you let us!” David begged.

John rubbed at Rosie’s arm, willing her to respond. Her eyes locked on David’s, the desperation paired with the sobbing Victoria swaying her. She sniffled, “I...I’ll try.”

She received a beaming smile from John for her affirmation, then he set her to the floor. Rosie gave David’s leg a quick hug, then walked her way up to Victoria. The woman looked down at her through her hair, then bent down as far as she could with her arms outstretched, to which Rosie stepped in and returned her hug.

“Alright, love, I think it’s about time for bed,” John told her. He proudly took her hand and led her back to her room, tucking her in for the evening, and smacking a kiss on her head. “They’re trying their best. Thank you for giving them a chance.”

Rosie nodded, then closed her eyes and turned toward the wall. John pat her back before exiting, shutting the door lightly behind him. 

He made his way back into the kitchen, praying they would wrap this up soon. He peaked in to find David holding Victoria, whispering into her ear as her tears cleared up. ‘What an emotional evening,’ John huffed.

Victoria’s head rose as John returned. “John...I’m sorry. And thank you so much for helping us...I don’t know how you knew that we-”

“I’ve been there before. Mary was insufferable in the week leading up to having Rosie…” John stopped as his throat failed him. 

David straightened his back as he locked eyes with John. “I’m sorry, too, John. We don’t hate you. Truth is, I think we need you. Maybe we were in over our heads when we decided to take Rosie in, but I still feel like this is for the best.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright.”

“Look. We do appreciate it, John. We’re in no place to fix what’s going on between us and Rosie. Not on our own. Thank you for talking to her.”

John nodded. “I just want her to be happy. Please give that to her.”

“We will.”

John shed his cardigan as the cool night air met his skin. It was far too warm in there with all the crying and shouting…

But at least there was some progress…

~

John barely registered when Sherlock strolled through his unlocked front door, passing by him, and making his way into the kitchen. Biscuit box in hand, he joined John on the couch. John ignored him, continuing to tap on the keys of his laptop. The crunching and crinkling hardly bothered him anymore.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Sherlock said through a mouthful of biscuit. 

“I’ve been awake for almost two weeks now, Sherlock,” John confirmed. “But thanks for checking in.” Sherlock hummed in response. It used to hurt, John mused. It used to hurt so much when Sherlock acted like something major had not actually happened to him. Now, it didn’t affect him.

“Ah, I see.”

John took a deep breath, in and out. “Any progress on the case?”

“None. Dead in its tracks.”

Several moments passed by without another word. John was somewhat surprised by the topic Sherlock introduced to him.

“So...are you still coming to the Christmas party? Mrs. Hudson wanted to make sure you were going,” he said.

“When was that, again?”

“Christmas Eve. The 24th, Thursday.”

John clicked on the calendar on his laptop. It was really already December...how time flew by…

“Right...who’s all going?”

“Me, Mrs. Hudson, Geoff, Geoff’s girlfriend, Molly...that should be it. That is, unless you’re bringing someone along.”

John ignored the latter part and nodded his head. “It’s Greg, and yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Sherlock wiped his hand on his trousers to clean off the crumbs, sitting silent for a moment, then asking, “How did visiting Rosie go?”

John shrugged his shoulder. “It went fine. I think I gave David and his wife some good parenting advice, if you can imagine that.”

Sherlock snorted, and John couldn’t help but smirk. John’s phone went off, and he checked the message from Rich. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him as he replied to the text and replaced his phone on the table.

“Why not tell him?” Sherlock stated, more than asked.    
  


“I’m not having this discussion with you. I’m never sharing my emotions with you again, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned and slumped in his seat. “I was only asking. And you don’t have to be so dramatic. I was just...startled.”

“Startled into throwing a punch? You’ve made it abundantly clear - not just then - that it isn’t worth my while to come to you with shit like that, so just stay out of it, will you?”

He remained silent this time. After an hour of ignoring his presence, Sherlock departed. John felt it was becoming easier. Sherlock’s attitude wasn’t his problem. The corners of John’s lips turned upwards. Yes, some progress was certainly being made...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter! 'Cause it's likely already Christmas for some of you.  
> I may or may not put out a chapter next week, but rest assured, I will be writing furiously now that work is winding down!  
> I hope that all of your holidays have been/are going as well as they can be. Take care guys!

It was another Saturday evening, now in mid-December. John took his usual seat at the bar and stared at the mirror ahead as he ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted the cardigan that laid under his jacket. He gave a quick ‘thanks’ as Graham dropped off his usual. As he took his first sip, everything in him calmed. 

Within a few minutes, he looked back up to the mirror, watching as Richard made his way toward him. Oh, how John loved to watch that handsome face when Rich thought he wasn’t looking. John smiled and pretended to be surprised at his arrival as Richard sat beside him.

“Hey, has Graham told you yet?” Rich started. This startled John a bit.

“Told me what? He hardly says anything to me,” he replied as the man in question stared blankly at him from across the bar. John forced a quick smile before busying himself with his drink.

Richard chuckled at the exchange before composing himself, “I wanted to ask if you… if you would like to come to our family party. Christmas day, that is.”

John raised a brow at this. His gut reaction was to say ‘yes,’ but he stopped himself. “Would...your...family be...okay with that? All of them?”

He wasn’t familiar with Richard’s family, despite hearing about them fairly often, as well as having some of them added on social media. John wasn’t sure how welcome he would be, or if Richard’s invitation would imply anything between them. He didn’t even know for sure if Richard was married or had his own kids or even where he lived!

Richard hardly even blinked at the question. “Yes, of course. Many of them have expressed wanting to meet you.”   
  


“Really?” John’s heart swelled at that. They wanted to meet him?...Rich must have been telling them about him! Well, maybe Graham too...On second thought, this didn’t necessarily mean anything at all.

“Who wouldn’t want to meet the famous blogger, John Watson?” Richard said jokingly, but it helped to extinguish any rising hope that John had. Right, some of his family already knew him elsewhere, Rich didn’t think about him too much outside of this pub, surely.

“Oh, yes, well…” John started, but trailed off. Before he could recover, Richard leaned in a bit.

“If you have other plans, that’s alright. I’m sure we can all meet at some other time.”

John had to think about that; what his Christmas would look like if he were to decline the offer. He could see himself sitting in front of the tv watching the same old Christmas specials, a few beers at hand, trying his best to ignore how the house was even emptier this year. It wasn’t a high bar to clear, but the idea of spending the day with Richard brought him far more joy than any other plans he could think up.

“No, no. I’d...really love to go, if you’re sure you want me,” John replied, lamely. It was good to give him an out, right? Maybe this was a mistake.

“Of course I want you, John,” Rich smiled and took a long swig as John reigned his heart in.

“Good! Great. I’ll be there!”

“I’ll text you the address. It’s not too far from here, a few blocks away.”

John nodded, happy to know he wouldn’t be spending the holiday alone...

~

The next day, John rolled up to David’s house, Rosie’s Christmas gift in the passenger seat. He sighed, stretching his back and his limbs. John was thankful that he’d left the house on better terms with David and Victoria last time. It was tiring passing through their home as an unwanted stranger. Not that they likely warmed up to him fully, but maybe now they wouldn’t doubt his ability to care for Rosie.

The door to their home slowly opened, a far more put together version of Victoria pursing her lips at him before spreading into a reluctant smile. “Hello, John. Come on in.”

John made his way inside, taking a moment to appreciate their decorated home. This Friday was Christmas day, and the living room certainly reflected that. Tinsel and stockings framed the fireplace, and a tree - a real tree - was propped up in the corner. John never cared too much for Christmas, his family being what it had been, but last year, Rosie had asked why John never bothered with a tree. He remedied this by going out and purchasing a fake one that was essentially a pole with some notches for ‘branch’ hooks, as he couldn’t see himself maneuvering the assembly of a real tree all on his own. It simply wasn’t worth the hassle. Obviously, that wasn’t so for David and Victoria, who had each other to adjust the thing and clean up the needles and water it. Surely, Rosie appreciated the effort.

The tree already had several gifts sitting under it, which was a bold move considering the little sneak Rosie could be if she set her mind to it. He smiled at the thought.

“Rosie should be in her room. Oh! Do you want to put that under the tree?” She asked, motioning toward the present John held in his arm.

“I was hoping to get to watch her open this one, since...since I won’t be…”

“Right, that’s okay! Go ahead and give it to her now! I’m sure she’s eager to tear in already, so one early present might hold her over!”

It wouldn’t, but John nodded his thanks and made his way to his daughter’s room. The door was wide open, and the girl perked up as he peered inside.

“Hello, sweetie!” he said as he entered, placing the gift into her lap. “Merry Christmas!”

Rosie’s eyes lit up, and her tiny fingers desperately searched for the right place to rip the paper off. John realized he may have taped it up too much, and guided her hands to a loose corner. “Try right here?” The paper came flying off the box in ribbons, the young girl releasing a screech once she saw the doll inside. 

When John went shopping for her, he did his best to recall what character she had been obsessed with meeting at the theme park she went to. Thankfully for him, the store had been well stocked with all sorts of toys and games and accessories with this character. It must have been fairly popular, John guessed. The second he’d hit his 30’s, popular culture became a mystery to him.

“ELSAAAAAAA!!!” she screamed as she held the blonde doll above her. Her fingers tore the box to shreds in order to free the figure, then attempted to separate it from the cardboard it was fixed to by force. 

“Here, let me help with that,” John said as he turned the cardboard around to undo a few twist ties. The moments where he could be of use to the girl fell few and far between these days. It was a simple task, one Rosie would certainly never recall in her later years, if she would even remember an hour from now, but even so, it gave John great pleasure to feel as though he could still be relevant in her life, to be there for her when she needed help. 

He shook his head to empty his thoughts. This was the Christmas he got to spend with his daughter, he would NOT spend it moping! The doll came free and Rosie picked it up. Rosie manipulated the legs into walking around, twisted the arms up over its head, and spoke for it in a high voice.

“Will you help me back to the castle, daddy???”

“I...s-sure! Yeah!” John found that he liked to play with her stuffed animals more, as he had no idea who this character was. Still, he did his best to keep up with her roleplaying.

John was happy to see that Rosie enjoyed her present so much. She hardly put it down throughout the visit. Hours later, Victoria gave the door a knock - her way of letting him know to wrap things up. He leaned in and hugged Rosie, giving her a kiss. 

“Is everything here okay, Rosie? Better than our last visit?”

Rosie nodded her head with a shy smile.

“Good. I hope you enjoy your Christmas, sweetheart.”

“I did,” she smiled at him. John’s heart exploded in warmth, which turned into hysterical amusement as she began to list all the presents that were under the tree that she’d peeled the corners off of to see what she got.

“Alright, sweetie. Just try and act surprised on Christmas morning, okay?”

She nodded again, then paused. “Daddy, what are you doing for Christmas?”

“I’m going to be spending Christmas with a friend. I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Richard?”

John laughed. He wouldn’t have expected her to remember the name of his new friend. Hopefully one day they could meet each other. “Yes, Richard. He invited me to Christmas with his family.”

“I like him, he sounds nice. And he helped that baby fox!”

John’s cheeks flushed just thinking about the man. “Yes, he really is nice....Well, it’s time for me to go. Take care, Rosie!”

David nodded to John on his way out. It was nice not to be stopped. He noted how this was the first time he’d made it back into his car without someone throwing some sort of fit at him. They hardly spoke, but John still considered this as a massive improvement.

~

Once again standing on the steps of his old flat, John adjusted his jumper. It’d been another couple months since he last dropped by - the circumstances of his departure having kept him away - but even so, nothing had changed about the structure in that time. 

He pulled out his key, knowing that no one would be on the ground floor to let him in. The idea of giving up his key had never appealed to him. No matter the relationship he held to Sherlock, this place had felt like home more than anywhere he’d ever lived.

John tried hard to shrug off the sense that he no longer belonged here. He couldn’t place why he felt this way. He’d forgiven himself for being violently rejected, the friendship between him and Sherlock had mostly remained intact, and no one in their sphere would blame John for his attempt. Maybe it wasn’t his own actions that have created this feeling. Or perhaps it was just in his head…

The chatter between their friends could be heard from downstairs. John made sure to show up just a bit late. He didn’t want to socialize with them on his own. Their holidays together had never gone well before. John bit his cheek. Hopefully things would go just fine this time around.

He was greeted by Mrs. Hudson as he stepped into 221B’s living room. “Oh John, it’s good to see you! I’m so glad you decided to come! I know your last visit didn’t go so well, but-”

“It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Hudson, thanks,” John dismissed her, having his thoughts repeated to him from someone else not helping to ease the tension at all. He looked around to find Greg and Sherlock occupied in conversation in the kitchen, Greg’s girlfriend sat at the table, ignoring the two and busying herself on her phone. 

“John! How are you doing?” a voice spoke up from beside him. John took in the sight of Molly’s Christmas outfit, which looked far more comfortable than what she’d shown up in for their first Christmas party. She gave up on trying to impress Sherlock long ago, and John admired and envied her for being able to do what he obviously could not.

“I’m alright, thanks Molly,” he nodded, but the dark, piercing look she leveled at him spoke loudly. “I’m uh...I’m doing better. Thank you.”

She pursed her lips and her eyes became sympathetic. “I’m glad to hear that. It sounds like Rosie is doing pretty well, too.”

“You hear from her?”

“You gave her my number, John…”

John wracked his brain, trying to remember when he had done this. ‘Ah, right, that was months ago…’ He grimaced. “Sorry about that, I really should have asked you about that first. I hope she’s not trying to call you at all hours of the night.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. She’s a sweet little girl, and I enjoy being there for her. And she knows me well enough to understand that I’m unreachable before 10am.”

John snorted at Molly’s comment, then shivered as he felt a hand brush past his collar. 

“I’m surprised you showed up. It’s very unlike you to be late,” Sherlock mocked as he slid past him. John scratched at the back of his neck, begging for the tingling sensation from the detective’s touch to cease. Molly met his eyes, gave him a sad smile, then stepped into the kitchen to top off her drink.

“I said I’d be here, and I am,” John stated with a shrug. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.” 

John received no reply as Sherlock stalked off to the other end of the flat, rummaging around in a drawer for something or another. Instead of waiting, John let out a sigh, then moved himself to the kitchen table for a seat. Upon settling himself down, Mrs. Hudson pushed a glass of eggnog in front of him. He thanked her and took a sip, though in truth, he hated the stuff.

It put him a bit on edge, the amount his old landlady was doting on him, but he did his best to brush off the feeling and accept it. As much as she admonished the idea of being his and Sherlock’s housekeeper, John always felt cared for in her presence. It had always been amusing to compare her to his own fairly absent mother - who hardly spoke to him once Harriet was born. The increase of Mrs. Hudson’s caretaker actions was almost certainly due to her witnessing John’s rejection, and since he had simply walked away from her right after the event, he would allow her the comfort of feeling as though her ministrations were helping him.

As she left, John turned his attention to Greg, who was now being handed a thick file by Sherlock. The case they’d been working on had come to a standstill weeks ago, and it annoyed John to see that they were still discussing it, right now especially. ‘Can’t they just switch off? It’s fucking Christmas…’

He couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Greg’s girlfriend - whom he’d honestly never made the effort to learn her name, as they’d met so little in the time that her and Greg had been dating. She joined the force, got with Greg, and quit to avoid the sort of scandal that occurs when you’re sleeping with your boss, but it was obvious to all that she regretted her decision. Her eyes flit up from her phone and locked on John. “Hello, John.”

“Hello,” he parroted. Her gaze fell back to her phone, which was a quiet relief. 

“John! How are you?” Greg greeted, finally realizing that John was present.

Before John could answer, Sherlock butted in, “I’d say he’s a bit on edge, and doing a spectacularly poor job of hiding it.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ll try harder next time,” John deadpanned with a fake smile. His phone chimed and he instinctively checked it. Richard sent him a message along the lines of, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!” which brought a more genuine grin to his face.

“Why don’t you go spend Christmas with HIM then?” Sherlock jerked.

“Who says I’m not?” John shot back.

“Alright! How was everyone’s year? Was it a good year? Molly?” Greg shouted above the bickering to diffuse the situation.

Molly stammered, “I-it was fine, I guess? I mean most of it was awfu-”

“And how about you, love? How was it?” Greg directed at the woman sitting next to him, who looked up, confused.

“Oh, well, I guess it could have gone better. I wish you would have-”

“Mine was great! I had a good time! Let’s all discuss the good times, right people? C’mon, something good has to have happened?”

“Yes, John. Why not tell everyone about your new boyfriend?” Sherlock glared down at John, his arms crossed over his chest.

“He is NOT my boyfriend! Sherlock, why do you even care!? Why are you acting like this?”

Greg cleared his throat and projected his voice over their bickering, “I really enjoyed the early part of this year when we all thought it was going to be ‘our year,’ even though every year is a nightmare. Do you all remember when-”

“That’s enough!” came the shrill shout from Mrs. Hudson. “I’m not about to spend the holiday with my boys jumping down each other’s throats! Now John, I’m sure Sherlock is sorry for what happe-”

“Sorry? He doesn’t regret anything. And he never apologizes,” John sneered.

“I  _ am _ sorry, John,” Sherlock said. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t right for me to hurt you when you were only trying to open up with me.”

John glanced around the room at their friends, who appeared very uncomfortable to be sitting front row for such a personal conversation. He sniffed, “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine, John. You’ve been working hard to overcome one of several traumas in your life, one that has plagued you for many years and has kept you from living your life to the fullest.”

John crossed his arms and kept his head low. He hated that this had to be done in front of everyone, but hearing a genuine apology out of the man aided the ache in his chest. He knew this was going to be a rough party.

“I just think that you deserve to find happiness, in whatever form that takes, and I believe that you’ve likely found that.”

John gulped and took in a shaky breath. Maybe he was right…

“And that toy you bought just isn’t working out for you. Honestly, you can’t simply swallow your pride and do some research? You’ve obviously-”

“Sherlock!” several people shouted.

The chair scraped across the linoleum, cutting off all speech when John stood and gave Mrs. Hudson a quick, one-armed hug. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. H,” then he extended an arm to shake Greg’s hand, “I hope you all have a good one as well,” then nodded a grin at Molly, “take care!”

He made his way toward the stairs without another word to Sherlock. How dare the fucking twat bring that up?! In front of everyone! Had he seriously been watching him!? John took a deep breath before his rage took a hold of him. How stupid of him to expect a real apology…

There were shouts begging him not to leave, but it seemed that his worries were not unfounded. Maybe he simply did not belong here anymore. Maybe he belonged somewhere else now...

John flopped down into his car and took off.

~

He clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced the pavement outside of Richard’s apartment on Christmas day. John had spent all that morning - as well as several sleepless hours in the night - agonizing over today. He was going to meet Richard’s family, which raised a great many concerns. 

John pulled out his phone to ensure that he was at the correct address, then made his way in to find the Durin’s flat. He stumbled upon the final step in the stairwell, then looked up to find the flat number he was looking for was right in front of him. Behind the door he could hear that the celebrations were already taking place, as well as general chatter from about a dozen people and...maybe some arguing?

He straightened his snowflake-patterned Christmas jumper and adjusted his grip on the dish he’d brought along, then knocked on the door. The arguing he’d heard abruptly stopped, then the door swung open.

“John! It’s good to see you!” Richard greeted. His face was pulled into a strained smile, his hair was loose, and he wore a light, comfortable looking sweatshirt and jeans, his feet covered by a pair of socks. His arm was currently slung around the shoulders of a shorter woman - though, maybe she was the same height as John - with similarly dark hair and eyes, and a round face, who wore a simple dress that appeared formal, but was most likely a step above pajamas. 

‘Oh jesus, oh god, is this his wife?’ John panicked, his heart sinking immediately to his stomach. All the air had left his lungs, and his reply came out a bit stunted. “H-hey...It’s uh, good to see you too!” John nodded at the woman and stretched his lips into what he hoped was a smile. Sherlock had tried to warn him, and maybe he should have listened, as now John was fighting the urge to bolt back to his car. His knees were weak in panic.

She pat Richard on the back and removed herself from under his arm, stepping closer to John and subtly eyeing him up and down with a grin on her face. If John could shrink himself any further, he certainly would have under her gaze. ‘Can she sense fear….?’ Her eyes snapped back up to his and she gave him a strong, warm hug. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, John! I’m Desiree, Richard’s sister, but everyone calls me Dee. Please, come inside! Make yourself at home!”

The nausea disappeared all at once. Of course, John realized, this may not be the woman that Richard lives with. Not to mention the kids…

“Oh! Wait! One more thing! May I take a picture?” Dee asked as she pulled her phone out from her dress pocket. 

John gulped down his previous anxiety and nodded, “Ah, yeah, sure!” He did his best to wipe the panic from his features as she lined up the camera and gave him a warning before snapping the photo. 

“Thanks! Now, get inside you two, it’s fucking freezing out here!”

Desiree had already retreated back into the flat, leaving Richard to step forward, throwing his arm around John’s shoulders and urging him inside. 

“Ah, did you make something?” Richard asked, pointing to the dish John was carrying.

“Yes! I made some biscuits! Peanut butter with chocolate chips. Hopefully everyone likes them…” John was lucky enough to get one more baking lesson in with Ian before the holidays, though the older man had insisted on keeping it simple.

Richard carefully took the dish from John, trying discreetly to steal one. John gave him a light smack to his chest and chuckled, “I said they were for everyone! Give the others a chance, yeah?”

Rich stuck a biscuit in between his teeth, laughing around it, and bumping John with his hip in a friendly gesture. They both made their way inside. John could immediately feel the heating of the flat, aided by the many bodies packed inside. The flat wasn’t tiny by any means, though it just barely contained the number of people mingling about. 

“Welcome to our home, John. Let me just set this down, then I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Rich said as he shimmied past a couple of large men to get to the kitchen. John didn’t dare to take another step forward without Richard by his side. He looked around the walls, photos hung here and there, and if his eye caught with someone else’s, his gaze was quickly turned to the floor.

“Well, hello there!” a friendly voice started.

John startled, but managed a smile and stuck out his hand to the stranger. “Hey! I’m John. John Watson. Pleasure to meet you!”

“Ah! John Watson! Y’know you’re a bit shorter than I would’ve thought you’d be!” the man before him informed as he grabbed John’s hand into a vigorous shake. He wore a hat that did not entirely suit the weather - nor the flat’s warm environment - as well as a scarf, gloves, and a coat. Was he really that cold in here? Wait, had he called him short???

“O-oh…?” John wracked his brain for any type of response.

“John!”

John turned his head to see that Richard was making his way back to him. Thank god…

“I see you’ve already met James?”

James took off his hat and gave a quick bow. “James McFur! Nice to meet you! I love the blog, by the way! Very fancy story tellin’ you do there! Is any of it real?”

“T-thanks, and yes. It...it’s all real. I lived it.”

Richard intervened, “James is my second cousin, somewhat of a distant relation.”

“I’m so excited to be meeting THE John Watson! Mighty entertaining stuff! Now, how’d such an interesting person like yourself get tangled up with such a sourpus like Rich?”

“Sourpus?” John asked, his brows scrunched together. 

Richard returned his arm to John’s shoulders and gently guided him to follow, James waving a goodbye as they retreated. Rich cleared his throat, “I hope he didn’t say anything to offend you. He tends to speak a mile a minute and doesn’t put much thought toward his wording, but I can tell that he likes you already.”

“Oh….good. I hardly said anything to him, but I’m glad I’ve not sent him running!”

Rich chuckled, then stopped in front of a fat, red haired man who was currently munching away at the snacks left out on a table. “John, this is Stephen, James’s brother. Stephen, John,” Richard introduced.

John couldn’t help but notice how the two, James and Stephen, looked nothing alike upon first glance, but when Stephen smiled in greeting, he could see the resemblance. “Hello, pleasure to meet you!” John said as he stuck out a hand.

The redhead grabbed his hand and gave a firm shake. “Hello! Nice to finally meet you!” He then held up his treat, saying, “These biscuits are wonderful, by the way!”

“Thanks! I’m glad they turned out alright, I’ve only just started learning how to bake,” John supplied.

“You must have an excellent teacher, then!”

“I do,” John beamed. “An old friend of mine married a chef and he offered me lessons.”

“Well, I’m a bit of a hobbyist chef, myself, and I can tell you those lessons are paying off!” Stephen exclaimed, brushing a few crumbs from his beard.

“Thank you!”

Richard continued to pull John through the flat, introducing him to everyone in his family. Thankfully, they came to be in two’s and three’s, so the introductions did not take quite so long. They were all very distinct personalities despite the definite pattern of being bearded and large. Even with the many tall, burly men he was surrounded with, John did not feel the least bit intimidated, and in fact, had been openly welcomed by every single one of them. 

They’d skirted along to find Graham, who gave them both a slow nod, standing next to an older man with white hair and a kind face seated next to him. The older man spoke up first, “Ah! You must be John! My brother here, as well as my cousin of course, have told me so much about you!”

John was shocked to hear that Graham of all people spoke about him, but he quickly recovered. “Really? I didn’t think there was much about me worth talking about!” he laughed nervously, tugging at the collar of his jumper.

Richard broke in, “This is Ken, Graham’s older brother. He’s helped me with many things throughout my life. I owe him a lot.”

“You owe me nothing, as I’ve told you plenty before. Though that does grant me some special privileges to being the  _ second _ most likely person that Richard will divest all his secrets to!”

John watched as Ken threw Richard a wink, to which Richard turned his head away from with a very serious expression crossing his face. John pulled his eyes off of him and responded, “I guess that means that you know all of my ‘secrets’ by extension? Not that I really keep secrets, but…”

“Oh don’t worry, laddie. Nothing I’d be willing to use against you!” They laughed together, though John was a bit nervous about what Ken had meant by that.

As they continued, John met with a trio of brothers, the set truly something to behold. If he’d thought that James and Stephen had been dissimilar in appearance, these three gave him a new perspective. Mark was the oldest, with white hair and a perfectly trimmed beard, sitting at the dining room table with a crochet kit. He watched over the youngest, Adam, who had light red hair, as he scribbled away at something. The middle brother, Jed, who had an intricate pattern of darker red hair and a fair beard, was quick to display his many pocket knives, for which his pants contained a multitude of pockets to house.

John found it hard to comprehend the fact that they were siblings, as they were all quite different, and their ages were spread quite far apart. Richard had quietly informed him that they’d each come from different sets of parents, Mark and Jed shared a father, and Jed and Adam shared a mother. A complex set of events had occurred in regard to their parents, which explained why they each appeared to be from a different generation, but the three still cared for each other as siblings either way.

Richard also had pointed out that Adam preferred to use he/him pronouns and to be respected as male. He would be lying if John said he hadn’t internally wondered about Adam’s outward expression, but Richard explained to John that he was trans, and that he was perfectly fine the way he was. John could recall a few of his friends in the army had come out as transgender, but he didn’t have much of an understanding of what that meant. Richard assured him that he would help him on the concept later.

When introduced, Mark had hardly lifted his head to look at John, his full attention on his current project, though he gave as warm a greeting as he could manage in this way. Jed leaned precariously in his chair, picking at his nails with a pocketknife. John had an odd feeling about the man - his behavior mildly dubious - but his demeanor was friendly enough, and he was fairly conversational when he wanted to be.

It was surprisingly Adam who had the most to say to him. He was in his later teens, a small amount of whiskers poking from his jawline. John had asked what Adam was working on, to which he informed that it was a book report. After asking what book it was on, they had bonded over a mutual love of mystery novels. John shared the name of the series he’d been reading through, and they discussed their own theories on whodunnit.

“You know, I really used to love the blog, Dr. Watson! I’d drop everything to read the latest update. Do you still go on cases?” Adam had asked enthusiastically.

Mark snorted and chastised his younger brother, “You were a terror back in those days, young man!” His gaze finally lifted from his craft and landed on John. “Your blog convinced Adam here to try wandering the streets at night in hopes of finding his own mysteries. I had to add several locks to the front door, and yet he still managed to slip out, the weasel!”

As Mark’s attention returned to his crochet, Adam and Jed shared a quick, guilty look. 

“Sounds like a handful! And please, just call me John. I can’t say as though I’ve gone on many investigations recently,” he said, scratching the back of his head. John looked to Richard, who stared at him as though he wished for him to continue. “Well, if I can help it, I think my days of going on those cases are done.” Richard smiled at him.

“That’s too bad, I really miss your blog posts. Maybe you’ll be a writer some day?” Adam implied. John laughed, but he was flattered by the thought. It was funny, he didn’t expect to get much from the young man, as teenagers tended to brood and keep to themselves. John had certainly been that way.

When John was younger, family gatherings had always felt overwhelming. He hardly recognized or cared to retain the memory of anyone attending, but he could see that the sort of detached, obligatory parties that he had been forced to throw or attend in his youth held absolutely nothing to the company of the Durins. 

They all mingled with each other, as they were here for one another, as opposed to attending only to maintain a veneer of a big happy family. It was touching to witness, but as welcomed as he had been, John still felt like an outsider, an intruder. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was witnessing something that was not meant for him. Was it envy?

The pitter patter of feet sounded across the kitchen’s tile, and John watched as a pair of children dug their hands into his dish of biscuits. 

“Dean, Aidan!” Richard called out. The two whispered to each other and filled their hands, before attempting to dash back out. Richard swooped down and caught the smaller of the two, lifting him up.

“Dean, he’s got me! Run!” the small brunette screamed. The taller, blonde one slowly came back, a hangdog expression on his face. 

“Don’t you want to meet John? He made those biscuits you’ve slobbered all over, as well as the candy you hoarded a few weeks back! The least you can do is say hi.”

The brunette, Aidan, adjusted himself in his uncle’s arms so that he could get a good look at John. “Hi! Thanks for the candy!”

John chuckled. “Of course, any time!”

Dean walked up to him and put out a hand, “I’m Dean.”

John grabbed the smaller hand and shook it. If he remembered correctly, Dean was twelve, and John could tell he was headed for that brooding teen phase. Still, it was entertaining to watch him engage in the same shenanigans as his younger brother regardless. “Nice to meet you, Dean.”

Richard placed Aidan back to the ground and the child bolted, followed shortly by Dean. He turned back to John and apologized, “I’m sorry about my nephews. They’re full of sugar. It makes them rowdier than usual, and that’s saying something.”

“Sorry if I’ve contributed to that. They seem like good kids though!” John assured. Richard huffed a laugh, then found the last group of cousins piled on the living room couch.

There was a woman with jet black hair nursing a baby, a muscular, fiery redheaded woman beside her, an older, grey-haired man beside them, and a man with quickly fading, dark hair standing in front of them, gesturing.

Richard came up to the man who was standing and clapped him on the back. “John, this is James and Stephen’s cousin, WIlliam, my second cousin,” he said, then he faced the man, performing his own gestures as he continued, “and this here is my good friend, John Watson!”

William spun around to stare at him, and John gave a wave and a “hello.” In return, he received a mumbled, “Good day,” and a nod. 

“On the sofa here, we have my cousins, Petra and John Oinson, Petra’s wife Rumina, and their son John. Hopefully this doesn’t get too confusing…” Richard said the last part to himself, furrowing his brow.

John’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the couple who were watching over their child. Adam was trans, these ladies were together, and hardly any attention was called to it other than to ensure their comfort. The atmosphere wasn’t tense with their outward expressions…. maybe John’s sexuality would be accepted here as well...

He would bring that up another time. John laughed, “Such is the curse of having such a common name. A pleasure to meet you all!”

“It doesn’t help that my brother is ALSO a doctor! He delivered our little guy here, so that’s why he inherited the name,” Petra laughed as she played with the swaddled infant’s blanket.

“That’s wonderful, and congrats! I love babies. Won’t be long before he’s climbing up the counters and the walls and breaking anything he can get his hands on….” John said wistfully, thinking of Rosie.

“Please, we’re already hurting for sleep as it is…” Rumina grumbled as she dug her knuckles into her tired eyes.

With introductions finished, John stood back and took in the scene before him. Such a big happy family…

His eyes caught onto some odd details: there was no tree, no presents, hell, there were hardly any decorations to speak of!

Richard faced him, sensing his concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, everything is perfectly fine! I just couldn’t help but notice there weren’t really any decorations. Which is fine! I don’t care too much to decorate myself. It’s just a hassle,” John deflected.

Richard looked around the place, confused. “Decorations…? I mean, a lot of my family here have come out from New Zealand to visit, and we threw them a welcoming party a few days ago, but we didn’t think we needed decorations or anything for this party…”

“Oh! I just meant like...a tree, fairy lights....the kids’ presents...” John explained.

“I mean, we don’t exactly….Oh! Oh, I must not have told you yet…”

John quirked his head and furrowed his brows. “Told me what? You guys celebrate Christmas early or something?” he joked.   
  


“We don’t really celebrate Christmas at all. Most of us are Jewish. We celebrated Chanukah a few weeks back, so the boys already got a few presents…”

John nodded, silent as his brain tried to catch up to the situation. “S-sorry, I just kind of assumed...you mentioned a Christmas party, and I….Well, I suppose I’m glad I didn’t make bacon bites like I had originally planned?”

He was relieved as he watched Richard slowly break into a fit of giggles and rubbed a hand over his face. That was….that was good, right?

“Yeah, maybe I worded that wrong. My family all meets up on Christmas day, just because we generally all have time off this week anyway. What I should have said was that we were having, ‘A Party On Christmas,’ not so much a ‘Christmas Party.’ You aren’t bothered by that...are you?” he rambled, then ended, staring deeply into John’s eyes.

“What, no! Certainly not! I was just - I just worried that maybe I’d fucked something up. Sorry, I was raised Catholic, but it’s not incredibly important. But no, no you being Jewish doesn’t bother me at all! I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression...” John rolled his shoulders a bit, his body having tensed up. If he’d offended Rich and his entire family, he’d NEVER live it down. This was hardly worth ruining what they had over.

Richard nodded. “It’s somewhat important to me, though I wouldn’t say you’ve done anything wrong, you only just found out about it. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

John smiled awkwardly. “Right, of course! Thanks. Sorry.”

He hardly noticed that Richard had a hand pressed to his upper back until the touch pulled away from him, leaving the spot feeling a bit cold.

Dee called from the kitchen, “Dinner is almost ready! Set up the table!” Richard left John’s side to join her in the kitchen.

John watched as everyone he’d just met stood or scrambled to push the furniture in the entryway and living room to the walls, a few of them bringing out and unfolding card tables in the large gap this created. He’d wondered how dinner would go with so many people in such a small space, but obviously they’ve been doing this for years, as the setup was near instant, all of them working together to bring chairs and dishes and drinks.

Feeling quite useless, John shuffled his way into the kitchen, where Richard was leaned against the counter, speaking quietly to his sister, hunched over to pull a piece of brisket - or three - from the oven. 

“Anything I can do to help?” John asked. 

Richard glanced at him briefly, then opened a cabinet and pulled out a few wine glasses. “Mind laying these out?”

John took them and bussed them to the table. A feather light touch to his spine alerted him to the fact that Richard had followed him, his torso lightly pressed against John’s back as he placed a bottle of wine next to the glasses. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” John mumbled. Rich flew back to the kitchen. John took in a shaky breath and returned as well.

Once the table was fully set and lined with food, plates, and glasses, they all took a seat. John couldn’t recall the last time he’d been at such a large party - it must have been his wedding years ago, though many of the attendees were people that Mary had known or distant relatives who knew they would get a chance to meet “The Great Detective.” They all spoke animatedly to one another, likely catching up with each other after a year spent on the opposite end of the planet. It was odd to think that half of those present had flown in from New Zealand. John’s family had all but disowned and forgot any family that moved out of the country, deciding it was too much of a bother to keep in touch.

He had to stop making comparisons between Richard’s family and his own. Yes, they were different, because they deeply loved one another. They each gave John the first pass at each dish, and he looked down to his plate, now loaded with a little bit of everything, brisket, latkes, kugel, and more that he’d never tried before. The food was wonderful, everyone did their best to include him in their conversations, and every once in a while, Richard - sitting right next to him - would give him a pat or slight touch that caused his body to flush with gooseflesh. 

It was all so overwhelming, and the feeling that he was an intruder intensified. No amount of deep breaths or blinking would stop the tears from flooding his eyes. “Excuse me one moment, I need to use the restroom,” John whispered to Richard as he stood.

“Oh, alright. It’s down the hall there, on the left,” he pointed out, and John nodded his thanks before rushing away from the table.

The second the lock clicked, the emotions flooded out of him. John’s knees crashed down into the soft bathroom mat, and he rested his forehead against the sink’s cool countertop as he attempted to sort his breathing.

He’d been doing so good. He hadn’t broken down like this in a couple of months now, adding shame to the pile of feelings that kept him from functioning. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he just enjoy an evening with a wonderful group of people? His ribs ached from the sobs escaping him. John prayed that no one could overhear him, though the tile reverberated the sound, causing him to panic further.

John violently shook his head. He didn’t deserve this, any of it. He wasn’t deserving of such a loving family, of such a caring friend. Why would he? He’d done nothing to earn this. He drove people away, he constantly failed, and he’d become endlessly prickly, already having given too much of himself to those who never really cared for him.

Not only did John not deserve them, he thought, but they did not deserve someone like John. They didn’t have to put up with such a burden, someone so worthless that he’d been unable to hold down a family. Richard and his family didn’t know him, they didn’t TRULY know him. One day they would find out, and he would be alone again.

John choked, the air failing to reach his lungs. He entered a coughing fit to unblock the tears and mucus from his throat, then jumped when he finally became aware of someone rapping their knuckles against the other side of the door.

“Are you alright? John?” came a deep, smooth as silk voice. 

“One second!” John’s stomach dropped. He must have spent too much time in this position. They must have all heard his sobbing! Now they all knew he was a wreck. He should just leave…

“John, I’m coming in,” the voice said. 

John couldn’t form a single word before he heard the lock being picked, so all he could do was watch as Richard slipped in and closed the door behind him. Those ice-blue eyes caught the sight of John, crumpled to the floor, his eyes stained red from crying, his hands moving over his face to hide himself. He struggled to normalize his heart rate when Richard bent down in front of him, joining him on the floor. John grimaced. He couldn’t bear to see the pitying look Richard was no doubt giving him.

An arm snaked across John’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm, soft torso. Off-balance and tipping over, he reached out to right himself, his hand digging deep into the larger man’s sweatshirt, dragging it down to reveal an extra inch of that furred chest that John was obsessed with. Just another thing to feel ashamed of…

John’s face pressed against Richard’s collarbone, another arm coming around him to hold his limp body up and press him further into the warm body. He didn’t deserve this man. He’d told himself this many times since he’d met him, but the feeling grew with every interaction. Richard didn’t realize just what John was, who he was. 

John sniffled, the tears continuing to fall as Richard ran his fingers through his hair. It felt so good, but it was wrong. John was betraying his trust. Richard had no idea of the feelings John held for him, how his touch only fueled the flames. His voice whispered soothing platitudes into his ear, and eventually the tears ceased. John’s body still shivered, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold tile of the bathroom floor, of the high emotions still coursing through him, or for fear of what was to come next.

“What’s bothering you?” Richard asked.

John swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just keep using him like this. A couple more tears spilled over. John recalled the only useful thing he’d taken away from therapy and began to count his inhales and exhales.

“It’s okay. Take your time,” Richard told him, the rumble of the words in his chest sending a new shiver down John’s spine.

“I don’t deserve this,” John managed to push the whisper past his lips. He sniffled again, Richard’s scent hitting deeply into his senses, and his body twitched in response. “...I don’t deserve this…”

“What do you not deserve? You’re a good man, John, and I-”

“I don’t deserve a family!” John cried out, then choked, then continued, “I don’t deserve friends. I don’t deserve  _ your _ friendship. I’ve done...so many horrible things, and I’ve done nothing to fix them. None of you know me, or what I’ve done. Rich, you’re a far better person than I could ever hope to be, you shouldn’t subject yourself to h-”

John was cut off by a hand shoving his face further into Richard’s torso, the words unable to come out.

“No. You don’t know who I am, John.”

He pushed himself up, and took in the sight of the man he was leaned against. His usually mild disposition was replaced with something troubling - was it anger or pain? A combination? His mouth twitched in a sneer and his brows lowered over his tightly shut eyes. John wanted so badly to reach out, to smooth the expression off of his friend’s face. He had brought him such distress...he truly did not belong here.

“Maybe you’re right, Rich. Maybe we just don’t know each other as well as we like to think we do, but I’m telling you now, I do not belong here.” John breathed out. “Just look at how much I’ve upset you…”

Richard’s face eased into a look of pitiful worry, the whites of his eyes quickly turning pink, his brows furrowing upward, his frown deepening. “This isn’t your fault, John. I’m sorry you haven’t felt at home here. I really tried to -”

“That isn’t it! Richard...you’re wonderful. Your family is wonderful. They’re incredible. I’ve never felt so welcome with a group of people in my life, and that’s just the thing! I feel like I’ve deceived you all somehow. You have no idea…”

Richard tightened his grip on John’s shoulder, not hard enough to hurt him, but still, John flinched, unable to continue the thought. Richard let go, returning the hand to John’s back. “I accept you.”

John released a sob. “You don’t know wh-”

“We all accept you here,” Richard assured him. He shifted, and John pulled himself off of his chest finally. Rich pressed his back into the cabinets and spread his bent knees out. John looked down to his own arm, finding Richard’s hand pulling him back down into his lap. He allowed himself to be led down, John’s back now pressed up against Richard’s chest.

Once John was pulled back into his arms, Richard resumed. “We’ve all done something, John. Everyone. I see no reason not to trust you. You’ve been through so much hardship, and yet you’re still here. I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve watched you make progress, even in the short time we’ve known each other. That’s what matters. That you see a need to work and to better yourself.”

John sniffled and took pause. The words rushed out of him, “I’ve killed people.”

“You were in the military-”

“I’ve let people die! I’ve killed my own comrades! I’ve allowed good, innocent people to die on my watch! I don’t know who you think I am, but I can tell you truthfully that I am undeserving of your friendship! You’re so much better than-”

“I’ve killed too,” Richard replied. His grip on John’s body tightened, forcing them ever closer together. “But I’ve also grown. My family still accepts me, but I’ve worked hard to earn that, and I’ve become a better person than who I used to be. It’s possible. It’s a long and difficult road to recovery, but John, it is very much possible.”

Before John could speak, Richard continued, “I see so much of myself in you, John. You aren’t a bad person. You dedicate your life to people who take advantage of you. And I don’t mean to say that this is your fault, I say this, because I want you to realize that this gives you little room to progress. No one can flourish in that kind of environment. My family has always stood by me, no matter what, and because of that, I’ve been able to turn my life around, and John, if that’s what you’re looking to do, we’re all right behind you. I know you can do it, too.”

The tears once again poured freely from John’s face as he allowed himself to be comforted by his friend’s strong embrace. He wanted to be better, he HAD to be better….for Rich.

“I don’t know where to begin. I’ve been lost for so long,” John whispered.

“Therapy is a good start,” Richard advised.

John groaned. “I’ve tried that, and it didn’t-”

“How many therapists have you tried?” Rich interrupted.

“I...t-two. Well, I guess...one technically, but-”

“I went through about five people until I found the right one. Please, give it another chance. For me?”

John nodded his head. Remembering that the rest of the party existed, and that they’d likely taken note of how long the two had been in the bathroom together, John pushed himself up and out of Richard’s hold. He helped Richard to stand as well, watching as he also wiped his face of evidence of his crying.

“Thank you,” John said.

“Any time, I’m here for you, John,” Richard returned. “I’ll see you back at dinner when you’re ready?”

“Right.”

With that, Richard left the small room, gently closing the door behind him. John ran some cool water to splash over his face, which was still puffy and red from crying. ‘Had that actually just happened?’ he had to ask himself. John struggled to think of a moment where he had been so openly vulnerable to another man so soon after their first meeting besides the detective. No, he would have time to think about the implications later. He gave himself a few moments for his heart to settle, then rejoined everyone at the table. 

John listened to the conversations going on around him, happy to be given the facade that his extended bathroom break had not ruined the mood.

“John, you’ve been to New Zealand, right?” Dr. Oinson questioned as he sat down.

“Y-yes, I have. It’s beautiful there! I’ll have to go back at some point.”

“You see! John, help us convince Dee and her pain-in-the-arse brother to hold next year’s family party in our country! We’re gettin’ old down there! Can’t be travelling around as much as we used to!” the doctor explained, receiving a few shouts of agreement from around the table.

Dean leaned over the table to grab their attention, “Yeah! I haven’t been since I was little! I doubt Aidan can even remember it!” His younger brother let out a loud “Yeah!” and Desiree placed her head into her hands.

John chuckled, “I think that’d be a wonderful idea!” 

Some glares were shot his way, but Dr. Oinson continued, “Good! I’m sure Richard is into the idea now that he knows you’re going!”

“I’m going?” John parroted in shock.

“Of course, you’re part of the family now, John!” Mark assured him, the motion of nods and voices of agreement following.

“It won’t be a family reunion without you!” Aidan chipped in.

John was nearly overwhelmed into tears once more, but managed to keep it in. “Thank you…I’d certainly love to go.” He listened as the arguments went on, digging into the food he’d left on his plate. Richard topped up his wine, and John generously drank it down, another refill following shortly.

As the night wore on, the kids had gone to bed, others had returned to their hotels or their cousin’s and brother’s homes nearby. John sat in the living room, chatting with the remaining family - Jed, Ken, and Graham - as Richard brought out more drinks and joined them. John happily accepted the drinks, but when he looked at the time, he decided to slow down.

“Something wrong? You’re not touching your beer?” Richard asked him.

“Oh! I just thought I should quit drinking for the night. It’s a fair drive back to my place, and I can’t be-”

“Stay here! For the night, I mean. There’s plenty of room!” Richard offered.

John ignored Jed whispering into Graham’s ear, and instead replied, “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose any more than I already have!” Truly, the man had held him through a breakdown on the bathroom floor, he didn’t want to push his luck, no matter how nice the idea sounded.

“It’s not an imposition if I’m offering!” Rich smiled at him, a big toothy grin. Honestly, John wasn’t even that drunk, but god if that didn’t convince him to stay…

“A-alright. I’ll take you up on that, then!” John agreed, downing the last of his glass.

Around midnight, the last of the party finally cleared out. This is when it finally hit John: the woman and two kids that Richard lived with...

Desiree stretched as she fastened a sleeping robe around her waist. “Well, I’ll see you guys in the morning. Try not to wake the boys, alright?”

“Dee!” She stuck her tongue out at a lightly fuming Rich.

“Geez, you’re always so serious. Lighten up, brother, won’t you?” she said as she ducked into her bedroom. 

If John had been paying attention, he would have laughed at the display, but his mind was heavily occupied. He snapped from his thoughts at the expression Richard was giving him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, I could take the couch if you’d like. You can take my bed, just across from the bathroom.”

“No! I don’t want to take your bed from you! The couch is fine,” John insisted.

“Are you sure? It gets a bit chilly in the living room at night, especially this time of year.”

John pursed his lips, “Then why would I make you sleep out here?”

Richard giggled. “We could always share my bed, if you don’t mind?” he proposed. He had to have been drunk to suggest this, John reasoned. He should have declined the invite, but he was weak, and the idea of sharing a bed with the man was too great an opportunity to simply pass up.

“Y-yeah. That’s fine with me. I haven’t shared a bed with another man in quite a while…” Richard’s eyebrows flew to his hairline, amused by the wording, and John made quick work of correcting himself. “Not like that! Not anything sexual! Sherlock and I were out on a-”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just head to bed, shall we?”

John nodded and followed him to the hall. As he did so, his eyes caught a framed photo on the wall: A young looking Richard standing with two younger children. One of them was certainly Desiree, but the other one in the photo looked like another sibling with bright blonde hair reminiscent of Dean. He couldn’t recall meeting this man tonight. Maybe he was busy elsewhere.

“John? You alright?” Richard softly called to him, holding open the door to his bedroom.

“Yes, sorry, I was just looking at a photo. Coming!”

John stepped through the door and looked around the simple room. It was plain and small and honestly reminded John of the first apartment he’d lived in when he was discharged. If it weren’t attached to the rest of the flat, it would have killed him inside to see Richard living in such a place. The walls were bare in their original paint, there was a dresser pushed up against one wall, and a perfectly made bed beside a nightstand on the opposite wall. 

John took a few more steps forward to allow Richard in behind him. Noticing his hesitance, Richard patted him on the back and said, “Make yourself at home, don’t be shy.” John blushed and moved to sit down on the bed.

“I can’t imagine you would want to sleep in jeans?” Richard questioned. 

John looked down to his trousers. He usually slept in his underwear, but that would likely be pushing things too far. He watched as Richard rummaged through a drawer in his dresser, pulling out a couple pairs of pajama bottoms. He threw a pair to John, then made his way to the door.

“I’ll change in the bathroom. I’ll knock before I come back in here, alright?” All John could do was nod. Richard flashed him a smile and stepped out.

John made quick work of exchanging his trousers, then left them and his jumper folded on the ground beside the dresser. He could have laughed at the foot of extra fabric that ran past his toes. He felt a bit like a child.

A knock at the door alerted him to Richard’s return. “I’m decent!” John called out. Richard stepped back in, in nothing but his pajama bottoms, his chest fully bared to the world. ‘Jesus Christ….’

John sat back down on the bed and busied his eyes elsewhere. They eventually rested on the nightstand, where he noticed a bottle of lotion and some tissues. ‘Oh no, this isn’t helping….’

“Come on, don’t make that face! I get dry hands and a runny nose at night!” Richard told him.

John shot him an incredulous look, to which Richard laughed. “Alright fine, it’s exactly what it looks like. I’m a grown man!”

John ducked his face into his hands and laughed. The man was truly ridiculous…

Richard laid down on the bed, and John followed suit. Leaning back into the pillow, John was hit with a huge waft of the man’s scent. Richard pulled the covers over them both, and settled flat on his back, his arms crossed over his chest. John - being too nervous to either turn toward or away from him - mirrored this position.

John thought back to his discovery. He lives with his sister and nephews. No wonder he always talked about them. It was a relief to find out that he wasn’t married with kids, but this created a few more questions.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Richard asked him. John turned slightly to look at him. He was still in a soldier sleeping position and his eyes were closed. John took a moment to appreciate the man’s muscled arms before responding.

“I did. This was the best holiday party I’ve been to in years, even with my….episode earlier.”

“I’m glad to hear, but please, don’t worry about that too much. They’ve all seen me break down at one point or another. Sometimes we all just need a little help, you know?”

John could feel his entire body heating up. “Yeah…”

A moment of silence passed. John wanted so badly to ask Rich more about his family, his living situation, and maybe for some clarification on his confession earlier, but he couldn’t get himself to do it.

Richard started again, “So...I don’t know if this is too personal, but...your folks didn’t mind you spending today with us?”

John chuckled lightly, “Oh no, certainly not. I haven’t spent a holiday with family in quite a few years now. My parents and my sister don’t bother with it, and I was never really close to any cousins.”

Richard hummed.

“Sherlock was pretty upset about it, though. We got into a bit of a shouting match yesterday.”

Richard groaned. “Can’t that bastard just leave you alone?”

“He does whatever the hell he wants, I’m afraid,” John stated.

After another pause, Richard asked him, “Sherlock...is he the friend that you confessed your feelings to?”

John swallowed. He could tell him truthfully, right? Richard accepted Adam and Petra and Rumina, and hell, he’d already mentioned that he accepted John for who he was - though he’d never mentioned being attracted to men. Would he kick him out of his bed, though?

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer tha-”

“Yes. He is,” John conceded. “I’ve...only recently come to terms with...maybe...liking men.” John took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Coming out hadn’t gotten any easier for him, but Richard’s opinion of him mattered far more than anyone else he’d told so far. The moment of silence frightened him terribly, and he moved to leave the warmth of the duvet as he blurted out, “I’m sorry! I’ll move to the couch, it’s-”

Richard grabbed onto his arm before he could slip out from the duvet. “Please. Stay. It doesn’t bother me.”

John settled back into the bed, though he faced away from Richard. It was dark in the room, but he didn’t want to see the tears streaming down his face again.

“I’m so sorry he reacted to you the way he did, but I’m glad you’ve taken the time to find yourself.”

“Thank you…” John’s heart constricted painfully. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He loved Richard.

Some minutes passed before John got himself back under control. The silence stretched, and he decided to try his luck.

“I was wondering...why do you live with your sister and her kids?” 

Richard hummed in thought, then explained, “Well, it’s kind of a long story. The short version is that her husband, my brother-in-law, passed away, and she’d only just had Aidan. She needed help, and I’ve always been there to give that to her. She was getting her degree, she had a newborn and a four year old, so it was tough on her. We got this flat together and well...She’s self sufficient now. Dee doesn’t really need me to keep this place running anymore, hasn’t in a while now.” He snorted, “Sometimes you settle into a routine, and you don’t notice that nearly a decade has gone by.”

John nodded. Oh, how he could relate to such a statement...

“I’ve actually been thinking I should move out soon,” Richard admitted. “Dean and Aidan share a room currently, but I know from experience that they’d appreciate having their own rooms to themselves since they’re almost teenagers.”

“You had to share a room with Desiree? My parents kept Harriet and me on opposite ends of the house. As if anything would have happened!” John joked.

Richard was quiet for a time, then responded, “I had a brother.”

John recalled the photo he’d stared at. Richard’s use of past tense filled him with dread. As little as him and Harriet got on in their lives, he couldn’t imagine losing his younger sibling. It must have been difficult. “I’m sorry.”

Rich made no acknowledgement, so John took a shot at comforting him, rubbing a hand over Richard’s bicep. He grabbed John’s hand instinctually, holding it gently. A while later, his hand was released.

The quiet continued. John’s assumption that the man beside him had fallen asleep was confirmed by a low snore. He did his best to fall asleep himself, though it may have taken him another hour until his sleep finally took him. 

As usual, he woke at some point in the middle of the night for no reason. John had flipped to his side, facing Richard. The man was giving off an abundance of heat in spite of the fact that John had stolen all of the blankets.

Richard looked incredibly at peace, his brow relaxed, his eyelids fluttering in a deep sleep. John beamed at him. He was so lucky to be here with him at this moment. John shuddered to think of where he may be now if he’d never met the man. This gorgeous...wonderful man who accepted him fully.

The next thing he knew, it was morning. John’s eyes snapped open to find Richard’s face dangerously close to his, his hot exhales ghosting across his face. All at once, the simple act of breathing in became far too intimate for John. His sleep-addled mind suggested that he lean in to give his love a kiss “good morning,” but he woke fully when he felt Rich begin to shift awake. Instead, John rushed to adjust himself onto his back, his attention suddenly called to some morning wood. ‘Of all FUCKING times!!!’

“Good morning,” Richard slurred, his eyes shut tight against the light.

“Good morning!” John replied, though his mind shouted at his body, ‘Please go down, please go down, please go down….!’

“I’m going to take a shower real quick, alright?” Richard said as he stood from the bed.

“Okay, I’ll be right here!” John rushed.

Rich chuckled, slipping out of bed and stepping out of the room. John waited for the sound of water running through the pipes in the flat to deal with his issue. The past few minutes of thinking unsexy thoughts had failed, and he looked to the nightstand beside him. ‘How fucked up is it to masturbate in your mate’s bed????’

He hadn’t rubbed one out in a while, his body not being quite what it used to be, so he took the opportunity. He freed himself from his pants and Richard’s pajamas, pumping some lotion into his hand. It was immediately very cold on his hot skin, but quickly warmed up. John didn’t bother to drag it out as he had maybe ten or fifteen minutes to complete the task. Not that it was likely to take that long…

John muffled his sounds into the pillow, inhaling Richard’s deep scent. His hand quickened, and his occasional grunts turned into erratic whimpers. He was sent over the edge when he imagined Richard’s hand in place of his, and he quickly pulled a few tissues and pressed them against his leaking tip.

His hips twitched and his body went limp as he finished, then pulled his clothes back up and wadded the evidence into a tight ball that he stuck in his pocket. He felt drained, and more than a little guilty for doing this in Richard’s bed. John couldn’t let him know how he felt for him. Not yet.

Thinking of the man, Richard came in dripping wet, nothing but a towel around his waist. “Forgot a change of clothes, sorry,” he mumbled as he ran to his dresser and rushed back out again. John’s previously overworked heart stuttered. The door shut behind Richard and John begged himself not to commit that image to memory.

Richard eventually returned, dry and fully clothed. “Bathroom’s free. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

John nodded and stalked off into the bathroom, throwing his tissues into the toilet and relieving himself. He washed his hands of the smell of the lotion, then walked into the kitchen, where Rich was pulling out stuff for breakfast.

“Hey, master chef. Want to help me whip up some pancakes?”

“Yeah, sure!” John stared at the ingredients on the counter, noting a partially used bag of chocolate chips. He shot a look over at Rich, who paid him no mind.

“It’s for the kids…”

John put his hands on his hips, interrogating, “I thought you said they were high on sugar yesterday! I see you’re contributing to this!”

Richard pouted, his eyes steadily held on whisking a bowl of eggs. “....I want a couple as well…”

John sighed, though in reality his face was twisted in a smirk. “You’re mad, but alright. I’ll just throw mine on first, since I’m not crazy enough to consume that much sugar this early in the day.”

A haughty expression crossed Richard’s face as he emptied the liquid egg into a pan. “Alright, suit yourself!”

John pushed Richard with his forearm, the man bumping into John with his hip in response. John was about to press himself into him again when Dee voiced her entrance.

“Good morning fellas!” she called. John reflexively shifted a step away from her brother, knowing by the look in her eye just how perceptive she truly was. Richard’s back was still turned to them as he made scrambled eggs, so Dee shot John a smile and a wink, causing him to shrink a bit further. “I see you’ve inspired my brother to make a full breakfast! Incredible!”

“I cook sometimes…” Richard grumbled, not looking up from his task. John noted the change in his tone.

“Right, I’ll just go wake the boys up,” Dee said as she exited the room.

John stared at Richard, who caught on to the fact he was being watched. “Yes? You look worried.”

“Are you alright?” John asked him.

His brows knit in confusion. “I’m fine, why what’s wrong?”

John shook his head, sorting his thoughts. “You just...you act a bit different around your sister? It kind of brings to mind what your family has hinted about you.”

“What have they ‘hinted’ at?” Richard pressed him, his eyes wide in worry.

“That you’re a big grump!” Dee supplied as she re-entered the kitchen. She tucked her robe tighter around herself as she took a seat at the dining table.

Richard groaned, but John confirmed, “Yes, everyone’s said this to me! But that can’t be true, he was friendly to everyone all night!”

“Oh, it’s true, he’s just putting on a show for-”

“I’m right here, you don’t have to speak for me, thank you very much,” Richard grunted as he stirred up the eggs. “I tend to be a little quiet with people I already know well, but I was introducing you…”

“Pff. Quiet! Brooding more like! I swear, all this guy does is sit in his head all day and mope! He’s constantly worrying when there’s nothing to worry about! It makes him a bit snappish at times, which he obviously holds down around you, John! But don’t be fooled, he’s such a drama queen.”

John watched as Richard erratically pounded at a bowl of pancake mix. Maybe they were more alike than he’d realized…

Dean and Aidan finally joined them, dragging their feet as they found their way into their chairs. Rich took the eggs off the heat and slid them into a bowl, then flipped and plated a few plain pancakes. 

“Uncle, hurry up, we want pancakes! With chocolate!” Aidan whined.

“Do you want them crispy on the outside and uncooked in the middle?” Rich asked jokingly.

“Those are my specialty!” John chipped in. Richard laughed at the boys’ groaning. 

‘This is nice…’ John thought. ‘A lazy morning, breakfast with the family….’ For a moment he wondered how Rosie’s Christmas had gone, and if she was currently as happy as John felt now. Oh how he hoped that she was…

Richard held out a plate to him, a couple of plain pancakes and a scoop of eggs on it. “Thanks!” John prepared his with butter and syrup, then stopped when he looked to the dining room table. There were only four chairs. He couldn’t kick Richard out of his place…

Rich prepared his own plate, a couple mugs of coffee in the other hand, and stood beside John. “Let’s eat in the living room, shall we?” He nodded his head in that direction and John followed him dutifully.

They settled into a small couch, balancing their plates on the armrests and their mugs on the table in front of them. John took a sip of the coffee Rich had made for him. He was surprised to find that there was no sugar in it, considering the man had a sweet tooth. He must have paid attention to John poking fun at him for his own sugar consumption. 

John looked over and watched as Richard took nearly half of a chocolate chip pancake on his fork and stuffed it into his cheeks. “Enjoying yourself?” John received a muffled response in the affirmative. John shook his head and smiled, digging into his own breakfast.

They sat together in peace and ate, occasionally looking to one another and laughing at the conversation between Desiree and the kids that would float into the room. They finished, continuing their silence, when Dee stepped in and took a look at them.

“We all really enjoyed having you over, John! I hope you come back at some point! You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you! I had a great time. I appreciate you all inviting me!” John said genuinely. Dee nodded, leaving them alone to themselves.

“I’m also glad you came, John,” Richard assured. John’s heart tightened. He knew that these words were not a lie, as impossible as they were to believe. Despite him witnessing John in a moment of weakness and having to care for him for the whole night...he still valued him in some way….

“Thank you…”

“It’s been a long while since I’ve had anyone over…” Richard grinned at him. John felt his face grow hot. Was he...hinting that he was single? No, he was reading too deeply into his words, as usual. Though that would explain why he spent every Saturday night at a bar with his cousin...

“It’s uh...been a long time since I’ve had such a big family to spend the holiday with, even if that wasn’t the point of the party. And the company was actually quite pleasant this time around!”

Richard’s grin faltered, saddening a bit, but he recovered and threw an arm around John, pulling him in for a quick squeeze and a pat. The man was a bit handsy, but...god it was so nice...

John was reluctant to leave the Durins’ flat, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Once breakfast had settled and he’d helped clean up - as much as Richard allowed him to - he said his farewells and stepped out of the warm flat. The cold rushed over his whole body and he quickened his pace to his car.

Even with the chilly weather, the warmth he felt in his heart stayed strong. He felt loved, if only platonically, but it was stronger than anything he’d received in so long, and it kept him going. 

His thoughts battled him on the way home. He had to tell Richard how he felt at some point. There was no getting around that. John couldn’t leech off the man’s kindness forever, it wasn’t right. He deserved to know at least.

John took a deep breath and exhaled. Another time. He would find another time. Maybe it would come up naturally...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd take a couple weeks off, but the way I see it, if I have a chapter ready by Friday, I may as well post!  
> Good luck to everyone this year, keep it up y'all!

A week had passed since Christmas day, and that meant it was New Years. 

Molly had messaged John earlier in the week, telling him that she finally found a way for him to return the favor of babysitting Rosie for years. He could hardly say no, even though he really, really would have preferred to. She deserved this for helping him out with so much.

John sat in his flat, Molly’s cats wandering around his home and yowling. He wasn’t a fan of cats, and the hair was blowing around every which way, sending off his allergies. He waited uselessly for the antihistamines to kick in as he watched them run this way and that in their new environment. ‘Molly better end up marrying her date for putting me through this…’

He’d texted Greg, asking if he was interested in hanging out, but apparently he was busy with something. 

A notification sounded from his phone. 

“ **Happy New Year! Any plans tonight?** ”

John smirked down at his phone, but the quirk in his lips fell as another sneeze attack came on. When it finally died down, he replied, “Babysitting for a friend currently.”

“ **I would say I’m pretty good with kids, need some help?** ”

He laughed. “Not kids. Animals. I’m currently dying. I would LOVE some help.”

“ **I can’t have you dying now, I’ll be right over?** ”

‘Very sneaky way of inviting himself over,’ John thought to himself, though he truly loved the idea of spending more time with him, especially now. 

Richard had been quite busy in the past week, and John had not heard from him much since the day after Christmas. The last of his family had returned to their homes by now, as far as John could tell from their statuses on facebook. Many had sent him messages through the app, wanting to stay in contact with John despite the distance and only meeting him once. He really was part of the family now, wasn’t he?

“Yes, please. Come save me!” John texted back, cheekily.

A couple of hours passed before Richard finally arrived. The sound of his motorcycle’s engine warned him of his arrival, and John did his best to corral most of the cats into his room so that they wouldn’t escape. A knocking came from his front door, and he rushed over to open it for the man. In the split second that John cracked the door open, a cat attempted to speed it’s way out, just in time for Richard to bend down and scoop it into his arm.

“Cats, huh?” Richard said as he handed John a takeout bag and shifted the unhappy kitty in his arm.

“Yeah, they’re terrors. I’ve got about five of them right now. A-” John paused to shake his head as a stray hair traveled up his nostril and sent him into another sneezing fit. He hunched over and allowed his face to explode into the crook of his arm as Richard stepped inside. John finished and righted himself. “I owed a friend of mine several favors, and she said we’d be even if I did this for her while she goes on a date tonight.”

Richard chuckled. “Well, good for her. Kind of a rough night for a date though. It took about an hour and a half just to pick up takeout, but I made it!” He entered and released the cat as the door was shut. The cat bolted for John’s bedroom door and began to scratch furiously. 

“The rest are in there, you can let them out,” John said as he rushed to his front bathroom to grab some tissue for his leaking face. He listened to the sound of a door opening, then watched as one cat joined him in the bathroom, padding its way along the counter. ‘Fuck I’m going to have to deep clean this place tomorrow…’

Richard poked his head around the doorframe as John washed his hands. “You weren’t kidding about the cats.”

John nodded, putting his face into his elbow as he felt another sneeze coming. Nothing came. Richard pulled something from his back pocket and handed it to John. ‘That handkerchief…’

“That’s quite a way to spend New Year’s,” Rich joked. John folded his arms on the bathroom counter and rested his head for a moment. The allergy meds were kicking in, finally. He tucked the handkerchief into his own pocket as he stood to leave the room, but a wave of dizziness caused him to lose his footing. Luckily, he was caught by his friend and propped back up onto his feet. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

“What would I do without you?” John asked, semi-deliriously as he was guided to the living room.

“Probably overdose on allergy meds and have your corpse eaten by several cats!”

John released a high pitched laugh, somewhat dulled by his stuffed nose. The medicine made him feel a bit loopy. Richard gently set him down on the couch, then moved back down the hall, returning with a full roll of toilet paper which he placed on the table beside John. “I’ll make you some tea and serve our dinner. You sit there and try not to die, alright?”

“Mmhm!”

Rich flashed a toothy grin before ducking into the kitchen. “My cousins say that they miss you already!” he called.

John perked at this. “Really? A few of them have been messaging me since last week.”

Richard came back in with a cup of tea and a plate of curry, rolling his eyes. “I swear, those nosy bastards will be the end of me. Never should have met them!” He laughed to show he was joking about this, but John quirked a brow in confusion.

“It’s hard to avoid family,” John said nonchalantly as he sipped on his tea.

“Well, I really only met most of them a decade ago...It’s my own fault, really,” Rich informed him. As John’s confusion continued, he explained further, “We had kind of a small family, and it was getting smaller. My parents died fairly young, and it was just me, Dee, and her kids after my brother-in-law died. I wanted the boys to grow up with more than just us, so I went about searching for some more...distant relations. I’m sure you noticed a lot of them came out from Scotland, Ireland, New Zealand, or Australia. I just wanted Dean and Aidan to feel like they had a family.”

“That’s so sweet of you…” John said, lacking the words to fully express how much this touched him. It brought tears to his eyes...or maybe it was the cat hair.

“Thanks,” Rich got in before John blew his nose like a trumpet. A cat hopped up onto the couch and laid down for a nap between them. Richard took a bite of his dinner, then scratched under the cat’s chin and behind its ears as he chewed. John did his best to follow suit with eating, the spices and the cat hair mingling in his senses to create a sensation wholly unmanageable. 

“Have you ever had pets, John?”

John shook his head and swallowed down his food, gulping down some tea. “Didn’t have pets growing up. Then I was in the military for a long while. Owning a pet isn’t very easy when you have to travel for work and you have no one to take care of it while you’re away,” he said as another cat joined them on the armrest.

“Yeah, I can imagine. I kind of had birds when I was younger. Not really as pets, per se. My mom made it a hobby to befriend the neighborhood crows and ravens.”

“You’re kidding me.”

The night wore on, both of them losing steam as the hours passed, an unspoken agreement that they were both staying awake for the New Year together. John stopped believing in the concepts of “good” or “bad” years and resolutions and such a long time ago, but even as he sat there, drowsy from medication and surrounded by cats, he couldn’t help but to dream of how the coming year would be far better than the one he’d been through, and it was mainly thanks to the man sitting beside him.

As midnight rolled around, a thought popped into John’s head. What if they kissed? He’d never cared too much about the tradition before, but the idea excited him greatly. He wished he could kiss Richard, to pour his feelings out to him, to dig his fingers into his hair and bask in his touch. No, it wouldn’t happen. John was just being crazy, the medication going to his head.

The minutes passed until there was just one left before the new year. Richard lifted his gaze from the cat in his lap to peer over at John, and when their eyes met, John’s heart stopped. His eyes momentarily flicked down to the man’s thin, upturned lips, his hair loose and falling past his shoulders, and his arm slung around the top of the couch, almost around John. Outside, they could hear the burst of fireworks firing early, the screaming countdown of the party just down the road. John’s heart made up for lost time in it’s pace, threatening to beat out of his chest.

All of a sudden, John sniffed in another cat's hair, and he pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket, burying his face in it as another wave of sneezes wracked his body. A warm hand rubbed his back as he sat hunched over, waiting for the next sneeze. It didn’t compare to his vision of kissing Rich, but his touch and scent in his sense was the next best thing.

“Happy New Year, John.”

“Happy New Year, Rich.”

~

Richard left John’s flat at half past twelve. They were both tired - John doubly so due to the antihistamine - and neither were the type to party past their bedtime - not anymore, at least.

John was thankful when Molly rang his doorbell this morning, all too eager to rid himself of her pets. He was glad to have his debts repaid and happy to hear that Molly’s date went well, but the second he shut his door, John had to get to work cleaning up cat fur, making sure he picked up every piece of his favorite mug - which had been playfully swatted to the ground, and sweeping up litter that had been kicked out of the box.

He could laugh at it now that they were gone. John wiped the surface of his tv stand, recalling Richard’s quick reflexes when a couple of cats threatened to push his television over. He’d shot up from the couch and stepped onto and over the coffee table in time to extend his arm and push the screen back onto its legs. John hadn’t even realized what happened until Richard returned to his seat, his brain slowed by his medicine.

John wiped the screen clean, releasing a yelp as he noticed a flash of movement in the reflection. He stood and spun around to come face-to-face with Sherlock.

“Why the hell are you like this?”

“Good to see you too, John. Did you enjoy spending your holiday pretending that you’re a part of someone else’s family?”

John chose not to bite back in response, instead nodding and smiling, “Yes, I did. I loved every second of it, unlike attending a party with yourself present!”

“John, I apologized for what happened before, does this have to be a weekly occurrence?”

John threw down the rag he’d been using to clean and pulled himself up to his feet. He couldn’t stand to look at Sherlock at this moment. “You ever notice how every time you attempt to solve one problem, you end up creating about five more?”

“Look, I’m just trying-” Sherlock began, but was interrupted by a rattling coming from the coffee table. John walked over to it, grabbing and raising his vibrating phone to his face. It was David’s cell number...on a Saturday morning...that couldn’t be good.

“One second,” John directed at Sherlock as he answered the phone. The detective flopped down onto the couch and picked at a loose thread. John shook his head at him. “Hello? David?”

“Daddy….”

“Rosie? Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Help meeee…..”

John grabbed his keys and took off at a full sprint out the door, his head and his heart in disarray. “Baby, daddy’s coming, where are you? Please tell me what’s wrong!?”

“Daddy, I’m tired…”

John ignored the detective sliding into the passenger seat as he buckled himself in and started the engine. “Rosie, I’m on my way. Are you at David’s house?”

“No…”

“Rosie, please!”   
  


“Hospital….”

“Which hospital? Jesus, please, tell me you’re alright!”

“I’m tired….”

All John heard for a second was a faint screaming and some background conversation on the other end. He took off in the direction of David’s house, praying that this was some sort of nightmare. 

A voice returned to the phone, though obviously not belonging to Rosie. “John.”

“Hello? Where’s Rosie!?”

“At the hospital with me. Victoria’s giving birth. Would you mind picking Rosie up? Keep her at your place for a few days?” the voice - David - posed.

John sighed deeply in relief. “I’ll be right there, just send me the location.”

David hummed and hung up. Sherlock took up the helm of navigation as John continued to drive them, thankfully keeping his mouth shut during the ride. 

John didn’t bother to wait for Sherlock to leave his car as he marched into the building, asking the receptionist what room the expecting couple were in. He quickly walked down the hall, picking up his pace to a jog when he saw his daughter hunched over on a chair. 

Rosie picked her head up and saw John, propelling her to leap from the seat and jump into his arms.

“Daddy, take me home…” she mumbled into his chest as John lifted her from the ground.

“How long have you been here, sweetie?”

Rosie rubbed her fist over her eyes and groaned. “Victoria started screaming when it was still dark outside and she hasn’t stopped since!”

“Poor dear,” John tsked. 

“The doctors said she’d be okay, but I think I’m gonna die….” 

John snorted. “Oh, is that so? Well, we better get you home then, and I’ll give you a check up myself, shall we?”

Before he could spin around and take Rosie outside, a blond head popped out from the delivery room’s door. “John!”

“Hello, David. Rough night, I take it?” John pointed out, staring at the disheveled man before him. At least he’d made it to the damn delivery room. David nodded and carded his fingers through his messy hair. He certainly had the look of a man woken in the middle of the night to one of the most stressful events in one’s life.

“Go ahead and take Rosie for a few days, alright? I’m not sure when we’ll be out of here. May as well let her get some rest, yeah?”

“Yeah, good idea,” John said as he hiked Rosie higher up on his hip. She was quickly falling asleep in his arms. “You know, when you do get home it might help you to know that-”

“I do NOT need any help right now, John!” David snapped, then wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ve gotten plenty of advice. If I need help, I’ll ask, okay?”

John brushed off the outburst with a nod. Everyone who has had a kid could drone on about child rearing advice, even when they were speaking to a bloody doctor. More than anything, David could probably use a nap. John could recall feeling the way David was feeling now, which is why he didn’t blame him. “Come on, Rosie! Let’s go home!”

She buried her face into his neck as Victoria released another scream, calling for David to return. John held tightly to her as he walked back down the hall. “You’re going to be a big sister soon. Aren’t you excited?”

“I’m tired…”

John chuckled and stepped up in front of his car, Sherlock switching himself to the back seat to ride beside Rosie. Just as well, he didn’t have a car seat for her anymore. Now that the thought hit him, her room was almost entirely bare, untouched since the day she left. He’d have to dig up the spare blankets, maybe take her out to get some extra clothes, a toothbrush…

His eyes wandered to the rearview mirror, taking in the sight of Rosie sleeping, flopped over into Sherlock’s lap as he gently stroked her hair. John’s heart gave an annoying pang at the sight and he centered his gaze on the road again.

Coming up to his home, John shut off the ignition and stretched as he stepped out of his car. He turned to watch Sherlock - carrying a still very asleep Rosie - shut the door with his hip and make his way toward the front door. John sighed and followed along. 

John opened the door for them. “Put her in my bed for now, if you will,” John directed. Sherlock nodded and went down the hall with the little girl near-falling out of his arms. In the meantime, John cleared his cleaning supplies and returned them to their cabinet.

When he felt the detective’s eyes boring into his back, John asked, “So, what is it you came over for? To bully me a bit more?” John came back to his feet and turned to see the downtrodden expression on Sherlock’s face twist into a more neutral position.

“I genuinely wanted to know how your holiday went. I...I missed you, John. I’m sorry for fucking up another holiday party.”

John held back a groan. “It went well. Thanks for the apology.”

Sherlock nodded, continuing to stand awkwardly in the doorframe, his hands firmly clasped together in front of him. John stared at him for a moment, then continued, “How did your Christmas go? Spend it with your family?”

“Yes. It was fine. Eurice has been transferred to a facility in London.”

“Great.” John didn’t like to think about the Holmes’ sister, due to his personal experience with her, but it wasn’t his place to ask Sherlock to forget about his sibling (again). It was fine, she was hardly ever mentioned anyway.

Sherlock hummed. John waited for further acknowledgement, but the man remained silent. He decided to step around him, making his way down the hall to check up on his daughter. John pushed the door to his bedroom open to find a small pair of eyes staring straight at him from the covers. He walked forward, taking a seat next to her on the bed and patting her curled body.

“Is everything okay now, sweetie?” John asked in a hushed tone. It felt odd to have her in his home again, after months of being without her.

“I’m sleepy.”

John chuckled. “Go ahead and sleep here for now. I’ll get your room set up, then when you wake u-”

“Can I stay here, please? With you?”

Rosie had quickly outgrown spending the night in John’s bed, as independent as she was, and at the time it came as a relief for him, but he would not deny this request. He only had her for a handful of days maybe, before she was living with her real parents again. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. Whatever you like.”

Rosie sunk her form deeper under the covers, sliding down far enough for her head and hair to no longer be visible. John smiled down at the lump, rose to his feet, and returned to the living room to find Sherlock had vanished.

‘Of course…’

John’s phone chimed and he dug it out of his pocket. 

**“I’m guessing we won’t be meeting up at the pub tonight since we met up last night?”**

John rolled his eyes. “I don’t mind seeing you more than once a week, you know! But unfortunately, yes. I’ve got someone over tonight.”

**“I’m happy for you. Sorry for interrupting. Have a good night.”**

“Good night!”

John found the clipped, short sentences strange, but then an idea hit him. Did Richard think that John was implying a significant other….? It may have come off that way…. Maybe not, John didn’t know. It was easier not to elaborate on the subject. As much as he trusted Richard, he still couldn’t bring up Rosie just yet. He would know one day, but not now…

John placed his phone on the coffee table, then went back to his room. A nap sounded perfect right now. 

He lied down on top of the covers next to the lump that was currently placed on his side of the bed. Perhaps it was weird of him to maintain a “side” of the bed when no one else besides Rosie has been in it since Mary was alive. John closed his eyes and focused on the sound of his own breathing.

John was startled out of his meditative state when Rosie began to stir beside him. She pulled herself out from the covers enough to poke her head out, and laid it on John’s shoulder.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” she replied, nodding her head.

“...Are you sure?”

She remained silent for a while this time. John reached out a hand to stroke her hair. “It’s alright if you’re not. Just tell me.”

Rosie shook her head ‘no.’ 

“Well, if you can’t tell me, who can you tell?” John asked jokingly. He hadn’t expected a real response.

“Sherlock…” she muttered into John’s shirt.

“You can tell Sherlock, but you can’t tell me?” John tried not to be hurt by this, but it was difficult. She’d always enjoyed Sherlock’s company, but had John fucked up so bad that the little girl he had raised trusted the detective over him? He briefly choked on his jealousy. ‘Like mother like daughter…’ he supposed.

At Rosie’s continued silence, John glanced down to find her eyes shut and her breathing slow and even. He continued to card his fingers through her hair as she slept. It wasn’t clear to him where he had gone wrong, to not earn her trust, but John knew it was about time he started to take the necessary steps to better himself. For her, and for Rich.

John allowed himself to sleep, his daughter hugging his arm close to her.


	20. Chapter 20

John woke abruptly the next morning bleary-eyed and his arm numb and useless. He made to flip himself over, but was stopped by the weight on his arm, then he heard the gentle breath of the child next to him. In the dim early morning light, he looked down to find Rosie’s blonde head resting on his bicep, her eyelids flickering in her sleep.

Yesterday’s events came back to him in a flash, allowing him to settle his tired body back into the bed.

The chime of his phone - what must have woken him initially - sounded, stealing his attention away from his daughter. John reached across her to his nightstand, grabbing more than he’d intended to as he found the device. He dropped the extra items beside him, his main focus on the all-too-bright screen that flashed inches away from his face. 

There was a list of notifications from facebook, several of which informed him of the many messages the Durin family had sent him. He just HAD to figure out how to turn that damn chiming off on his phone, this was getting ridiculous! He’d been waking up at all hours of the night from the damn thing!

Rosie began to stir as John finished up replying to all of his messages.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” John offered, receiving a light groan in response. He smiled. Same as she ever was.

“Are you hungry? We could go out for breakfast?”

Rosie slid herself out of the bed, her eyes still mostly shut, then quickly shuffled her little legs to the bathroom to get ready. ‘Poor thing must be tired still…’ John thought to himself.

John sat up and pushed himself out from the covers. Rosie could get ready fast if she put her mind to it, so it was best he be ready as well. 

Once they were all put together, they made to step out, but came face to face with Molly, retracting her fist as though she were just about to knock on the door.

“Good...morning, Molly,” John said, perplexed by the unannounced visit.

Molly bent down at the sight of Rosie, spreading her arms to the girl who immediately ran into her arms. “Hello! I didn’t expect to see you here, little one!”

“I missed you, Molly!” Rosie screeched. Molly and John shared a look behind the girl’s back, a silent demand to be let in on what was going on.

“Molly! Would you care to join us for breakfast?” John asked. 

“Please come with us, Molly!” Rosie begged.

“Alright, if your daddy’s treating, I’m in!”

“Yeah, yeah, get in the car,” John rolled his eyes and waved for them to pile in. John played cabby once more as Rosie and Molly slipped into the back seat. “So, Molly, what brings you here so early?”

Molly finished fixing Rosie’s bedhead and answered, “It’s been a week since I’ve heard from you. I thought I’d give you a quick check-in.”

“I promise you, I’m fine! I don’t need five people checking in on me constantly!”

“You’re right. You’re looking much better these days, John,” Molly assured him.

“It’s Richard!” Rosie chirped.

John sputtered and looked around, “What!?”

“Who?” Molly asked.

“Daddy made a friend and he’s been happier ever since!”

Molly locked eyes with John through the rear-view mirror and quirked a brow at him. Great, he’d have to tell her about this, too…

“Huh, that certainly explains things!” Molly smiled.

John was thankful they had arrived at the cafe, so that he could step out of the car and ease the blush on his face with the cold winter air. Rosie held tight to Molly’s hand as John led them inside. 

He shed his jacket as they slid into a booth, setting it on the empty cushion next to himself. John looked up to the girls sitting opposite him. Molly’s hair was loose for once, her scarf and jumper obviously self-knit with a jacket over it. She appeared more at ease than John has ever seen her before. 

“You look good today, Molly,” he voiced. 

Rosie shot him a look and amended, “Molly always looks good!”

“I’m saying she also looks happier than usual!”

The woman chuckled and pat Rosie on the head. “Thanks, both of you! You know, that reminds me! I came over to tell you something, John.”

John’s brows knit together as he took a deep breath. This was going to be good news, right? “Sure, what is it?”

“Greg happened to mention that he hasn’t told you yet, and I thought you already knew and since you two are fairly close I thought you should know, but he just isn’t sure quite how to tell you, so I-”

“Tell me what?”

Molly’s lips pursed in embarrassment, but she quickly recovered with a smile. “Greg and I are dating now!”

“.......What?”

A waitress quickly stepped in to the lull in conversation and took their orders, John only able to stutter out that he needed some water. After it was brought to the table and he had a few sips, he was able to collect his thoughts enough for the questions to flow out of him.

“What about his girlfriend? They were still dating just a week ago!”

“And it ended just a week ago!” Molly bit her lip and averted her gaze. “Things didn’t really get better for anyone after you left the party…Not that it was your fault, of course!”

John ran his fingers through his hair as he went on to his next question, “So that’s who you went out with a few days ago? ...But wait! That’s so soon after they broke up!”

“Let’s be honest, John, things were going downhill between them for a while!”

He nodded. “But really... _ Greg _ ? And  _ you _ ?”

Molly folded her arms as her and Rosie’s breakfast arrived. “Is there something wrong with that?”

John shook his head. “No, I just...I didn’t see that coming, I guess…”

Rosie gobbled up her pancakes, her eyes never leaving the tv screen just over John’s shoulder. John envied her carefree lifestyle.

Molly picked her fork around in her eggs, deep in thought. “Well, I suppose we talked a little at your wedding, and here or there while on the job or fussing over Sherlock. You left during the party, Sherlock locked himself up in his room. Mrs. Hudson was calling down the stairs for you and I excused myself to the restroom for a moment. By the time I came back out, it was just Greg sat at the table. I’d asked him what happened. Well, maybe that’s something he should tell you if you’re interested…”

He wasn’t, but John nodded along. He paused, then laughed to himself. “Really? That fast, huh?”

“Oh you’re one to talk!” Molly chided, causing John to snap his mouth shut. “Rosie, mind telling me about this ‘Richard’ fellow?”

Rosie spun her head to them at the call of her name, rejoining the conversation. “Daddy talks about this man all the time and he’s nice and he helped a baby fox once! He works on cars and he has long hair and he’s muscled and big and he-”

“Thank you, that’s enough dear!” John begged her to stop politely. His elbows banged against the table as he rested his hot face in his cold hand. He couldn’t stand to watch the smug look cross Molly’s face.

“So why don’t you tell us more about him, John?” Molly suggested. Rosie smiled up at him, ready to hear more about the man. “How did you spend Christmas, John?”

John sipped on his water and cleared his throat. “Well, it went...it went well. I spent it with Richard and his family. They don’t celebrate Christmas, but it was nice of them to invite me over that day.”

“So is Richard the guy Sherlock was moping about, then?” Molly asked with a grin.

“....Yes I believe so.”

“Right, so how did you meet this guy?” she asked, then bit into her toast.

John grimaced. “....I met him at a pub.” Molly’s eyes told him to keep going, but John was genuinely at a loss for words. Where did he go from there? “He’s...very understanding…”

“What does he look like?”

John blushed further, his face scrunching up in discomfort. “He’s tall and he has long, dark hair that’s turning white. A sharp nose and light blue eyes. A bit on the thicker side and….handsome.” He paused to sort his breathing, picturing the man’s face causing his heart to beat erratically. 

John could see it in her eyes; Molly knew he had it bad. If he looked just a little deeper, he would have been able to guess that her new boyfriend may have told her a bit about “John’s newest obsession.”

“Glad to hear that you’ve made such a good ‘friend,’ John!” she gloated as she tucked into her breakfast. 

“Can I meet him?” Rosie questioned. “I want to meet him so bad! Please? Pleeeaaaase?”

John couldn’t outright say ‘no’ to the look his daughter was giving him, her bright pink lips smeared with chocolate and her eyes shining with hope, and he did want the girl to meet him at some point, but he still wasn’t ready to tell Richard about her. The idea made his throat lock up for a moment, but he replied, “Yes, I’m sure you’ll meet him one day, sweetheart!”

It wasn’t the answer she was hoping for, telling by the way her posture deflated, but she nodded and went back to her pancakes. It hurt to watch, but John knew it would be the best for now. He rebounded from this by asking her, “How was  _ your _ Christmas, Rosie? How did it go?”

She lit back up, excited to tell Molly all about what presents she’d received. John was hoping to hear more about the familial aspect of the holiday rather than a recounting of the gifts, but maybe it was a sign that the day went well. If she was content, that’s what mattered.

John enjoyed their company for as long as their breakfast lasted. At one point, the smells of the cafe sent his stomach growling, and he conceded to having a small plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee. It wasn’t nearly as good as what Richard had prepared for him the day after Christmas, but it would serve to end the ache in his belly.

At the end of their meal, Molly stood to leave, informing them that she was off to perform some errands with the rest of her day. She gave Rosie a kiss on the head and thanked John for treating her to breakfast before she stepped out.

John watched as Rosie tore what was left of her breakfast to pieces, the serving far too large for her, as always. “How about we go out shopping? Get you a spare change of clothes or two?”

It made for a pleasant day, going through the shops of downtown London with his daughter running beside him and ahead of him, as though he was living life the way he had been before Rosie was taken from him. For some hours, he could pretend that nothing had changed since then - except for the handsome face that popped into his head whenever his eyes caught something that reminded him of the man, or if someone looked anywhere near similar to him. John could pretend that everything in his life was well, that he was content, that Rosie was happy, and that he had someone he loved at his side.

It was just pretend though. When David and Victoria called him up asking for Rosie to return home, he would be thrown back into reality. 

May as well make today worth it.

It’d been ages since John felt the ease of walking through a store. He’d gotten better about strolling through a grocery store alone in order to stock his pantry and fridge, but some days were still hard, something deep within telling him that he was being watched, judged, that he had to get away, to return home immediately. Rosie helped tamp down the feeling immensely, her momentum keeping him steady. 

Though, if he were being more honest with himself, a bit of that feeling lingered. Another time, taking Rosie through the children’s section of a clothing store would have simply been another chore, something he’d rather not be in charge of, since it was out of his wheelhouse. Now, it gave him anxiety. Could the parents and children around them somehow know that Rosie wasn’t related to him? That he was just  _ some man _ to her? Did they somehow know that he...fancied men, and did they look down on him for that?

John shook his head and breathed out. No, no one could read his mind. No one could see right through him. Surely no one really paid any attention to him.

“Daddy?”

His head lifted. Rosie grabbed onto his hand. John steeled himself. He couldn’t be spacing out like this, out and about, especially not when Rosie was there, when she needed him. John smoothed his thumb over her hand and led her to a checkout stand, purchased what she picked out for herself, and walked her back to the car. 

As they placed her new clothes in the trunk, Rosie grabbed onto his sleeve, jumping up and down to get his attention.

“Yes, dear?”

“Can we go visit Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson? Pretty please? I haven’t been there in so long!”

John wracked his brain for a reason not to visit the detective, but seeing as the flat was nearby and they had nowhere to be, John gave in. “Sure, I don’t see why not!”

As they got in and buckled up, John quickly checked his phone. It was nearly noon and he hadn’t received a single text from Rich...it was very unlike him. 

“Don’t text and drive, daddy!”

“I’m not driving! Look, I’m putting it away now!” John said as he slid his phone back into his pocket. 

As they took off down the road, John recalled what Rosie had told him last night before falling asleep. This trip would be a great opportunity to have a talk with Sherlock.

“Daddy, are you happy?” Rosie asked out of the blue.

John, ripped out of his thoughts, panicked. Was he happy? What kind of question was that??? He took his eyes off the road for a split second to look at Rosie in the mirror above him. She seemed awfully pensive for such a young girl. “I’m - I’m happy to spend the day with you, sweetie!”

“Not like that! Are you happy?”

‘What is she, my damn therapist?’ John laughed at himself. Ah, that was another thing he’s been neglecting to do…

“Am I happy? I think that I am, yes. What about you, honey? Are you happy?”

Rosie paused to think, failing to answer before they rolled up outside of 221B. She wrestled her way out of the seatbelt and scrambled out of the car. John quickly released himself to follow her, her small hands tugging at the handle of the flat’s door. John patted her on the back for her efforts, then brought out his key and unlocked the door. Rosie pushed her way inside.

‘Guess I’ll find out elsewhere….’

John stepped inside and the waft of freshly baked goods hit his senses. He spared a glance to his right, toward Mrs. Hudson’s part of the flat, seeing the older woman cooing over Rosie and feeding her treats already. John huffed a laugh and decided that now would be the best time to have his chat with Sherlock. Besides, who knew when the next moment would come where he had the detective cornered and available for more than five straight minutes?

He trudged up the stairs, leaving his daughter occupied with his old landlady. At the top of the flight, the scent of baked goods had disappeared, now replaced with a horrid, musty smell. Was that bastard smoking!?

John quickly marched his way to the kitchen, peering around the corner, hoping to find Sherlock sat at the table with a lit burner and extremities or whatever the hell else he could be experimenting on. He let out a ragged sigh when he didn’t find him in the kitchen, swearing to himself that he would likely do this or that to the detective once he found him, only for the man to appear directly behind him within seconds.

“Fuck!” 

“Seems to me you’re still quite on edge, John,” Sherlock stated as he paced his way to the corner of the flat, ducking behind a pile of books.

“Yeah, no help from you…” John said, to which Sherlock snickered from his hunched position. John shook his head and came within a foot of the man, kneeling down so that they were nearly eye to eye. “Sherlock...we need to talk.”

“Are you going to profess your undying hatred for me?” Sherlock mocked playfully, refusing to look at John. 

John bit his lips to hold back a smile. “No, we’ll have that discussion later. I wanted to talk to you about Rosie.”

Sherlock finally met John’s eyes, his expression serious. “What about her?”

“What does she say to you?”

Sherlock squinted at him. “Sorry?”

“What is she telling you that she can’t tell me!?” John yelled in a whisper, quickly losing his patience.

Sherlock stood from his position with a grimace on his face, taking a couple of folders with him over to the coffee table and slapping them down. “Maybe you should first ask yourself why she doesn’t come to you with her problems?”

“What makes you think I haven’t? I certainly wouldn’t be asking  _ you _ if I’d come up with that answer on my own!” John bit back as he stood. He followed the detective to the kitchen, hoping that Mrs. Hudson was still busying Rosie while they had this conversation. “Please, Sherlock, I’m not in the mood for games right now!”

“Maybe she sees that you’re incapable of taking care of yourself? That you need someone else to lift you up.”

John stood stunned in the kitchen’s door frame. “What the hell does that mean? I take care of myself just fine!”

Sherlock, once again refusing to meet John’s eyes, listlessly shuffled through some papers on the table. He pursed his lips and responded, “Perhaps...you look sad. When you think she’s not watching...”

John thought for a moment on how to interpret this, then laughed to himself. “I’m perfectly fine! And even if I wasn’t, that’s not her job to worry about. For god’s sake, she’s not even five years old yet! She doesn’t...she doesn’t understand...she…” The dawning realization horrified him. Sherlock was right. That explained her behavior. Why she would sacrifice her most beloved toy to keep John safe, why she asked over his happiness…

“But that’s-! She shouldn’t! She shouldn’t be worrying over me! I’m supposed to be the one taking care of her!” John took a few deep breaths in order to calm himself, willing away the ache in his eyes. 

Sherlock looked up at him sympathetically. “Rosie is young, but she’s still a human with eyes and a functioning brain. She’s smart enough to understand that her father may be having a hard time, and she won’t want to share her troubles when you handle your own so poorly.”

John grit his teeth. “I. AM HANDLING THINGS. JUST. FINE.” He took one more deep breath. “I’m handling things better than I’ve ever handled things before! I’m feeling better than ever! Why would she still worry!? I’M FINE!”

At the slightest movement, Sherlock found his arm being clutched by the shorter man. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me! What did you mean, that I ‘need someone else to pick me up,’ huh? You like to believe I’m FUCKING USELESS without someone else!? Does that make you feel better? To think I’m NOTHING without Sherlock FUCKING Holmes around!?”

“DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF!? YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY NOT ‘FINE.’ EVEN  _ WITH _ YOUR FUCKING PET!” Sherlock spat.

“What makes you hate Richard so much!? He’s been nothing but kind to me! A REAL friend.” John paused a moment. ‘Is Richard taking care of me? Does he think I can’t take care of myself? Oh no...maybe Sherlock is right about that, too…’

“I don’t trust him one bit, and neither should you!”

“Well, that’s too bad, because it isn’t up to you, is it!? I love him and there’s nothing that’s going to change my mind about that!” A few minutes passed before John registered what he had said, but by the time it sank in, he was already halfway downstairs to take Rosie home. 

He stepped down onto the landing and noticed the girl poking her head around the corner of Mrs. Hudson’s flat. John instantly cooled off at her worried look and stretched out his hand, which she moved forward to take in her own. “Come on, sweetie. I think it’s about time we head home and make dinner, alright?” Rosie nodded and let herself be guided outside and to the car.

Rosie kept her head down as John buckled her in. “...Daddy...are you and Sherlock fighting again?”

John buckled himself in, thinking of how to respond. He can’t tell the truth of the matter. The girl already worried too much for John’s comfort. “No, sweetie, things are fine. Sherlock and I are...working on something right now. It’ll be okay.”

She slumped in her seat, unconvinced. ‘This will have to do for now…’ John thought.

Rosie stared up at the flat as they pulled away from Baker Street. Her first home was with John, but her second home was 221B. John knew she was just as attached to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson and all of their friends and family as she was to him. He’d been her father for most of her life, but they have also been her family in that time. 

As he drove away, John ruminated on the topic. Was he just as bad as David? Pulling her away from her family? Did this add to her unwillingness to talk? Should he make the effort to be more civil with Sherlock for Rosie’s peace of mind?

Thoroughly depressed, John parked outside of his home and helped Rosie out of the car. John handed Rosie her bag of clothes, then grabbed the rest of their shopping in his arms. Insisting he didn’t need help, they made their way inside. As John put the groceries away, his mind still heavy, he looked up at Rosie sitting at the table, turned around in her seat to stare back at him. 

(“Perhaps...you look sad. When you think she’s not watching…”)

John forced a smile to his face. Rosie forced a smile back at him, then her face fell to something neutral, and she turned her body back around to the table. ‘You’re losing her, and this isn’t fixing anything, John Watson…’

The second he finished filling the fridge, he strolled up next to Rosie - who was lost in the scribbles of the drawing she was working on - and got down on his knees beside her. This got her full attention.

“Rosie…”

“...Yeah?”

John didn’t know what he wanted to say exactly, and quickly regretted speaking as though he was ready. His first instinct was to ask her questions, but he stopped himself. She wouldn’t answer, or if she did, she may not answer truthfully. What made her think she had to protect him?

In truth, he never, ever dreamt that he would be a parent. Children, as a concept were foreign to him. When it had come to light that Mary was pregnant, his first reaction was fear, then elation, then back to fear. He could deal with kids for short periods of time, for work, for friends, but the idea of being a parent had never crossed John’s mind. 

He never thought he would be capable enough for it, and perhaps he wasn’t. Maybe he hadn’t been the best for Rosie, especially as a single parent. It was no excuse. He had to right this somehow.

“Rosie, I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he started. His daughter made no move to speak up, so he continued, “I wish you would be open and honest with me...but I understand if you can’t.”

She seemed surprised, but still did not talk. John pushed forward, “You love Sherlock, right?” Rosie nodded. “And Mrs. Hudson and Molly?” She nodded again. “And Greg and Mycroft and Sherlock’s parents?” Rosie nodded vigorously. 

John took a deep breath. “And they love you, too. So much. Just as much as I love you. You can talk to them if you need someone to talk to, if you truly can’t talk to me. I know there’s some things you won’t want to come to me for and that’s okay, but just know that I love you and I want to help you in any way that I can. You’re never a bother. You’re my priority, honey. I love you.”

Overwhelmed, John wrapped his arms around her, a few tears running down his face. He rocked her back and forth - more for his own comfort than hers. Rosie’s arms came around his neck and hugged back. She mumbled into his shoulder, and John pulled away just a bit to pop a kiss on her cheek and ask, “Hmm? What was that, sweetie?”

“I love you. I just want you to be happy,” she sniffed.

John shifted his hands to Rosie’s cheeks to make sure she was listening as he told her, “Rosie, I’m not always going to be happy. Some days are easy. Some days are hard. Things are looking up, and I feel better than I have in a long time. It’s not your job to be in charge of that. Bad stuff happens sometimes, but you keep going forward, okay?”

Rosie nodded once more. “I wish I knew more about you, daddy.”

John tilted his head in confusion. “What?”

“You don’t share a lot about yourself. You talk about other people. I don’t know a lot about you.”

John pondered that for a moment. He  _ was _ fairly dependent on others...wasn’t he? John heard Rosie’s stomach growl and he chuckled, standing to his full height and wiping his eyes. “Well, how about I get working on dinner, and in the meantime, you can ask me whatever you like?”

Rosie liked the idea and asked a seemingly endless number of questions as John cooked. He did his best to be truthful, but also skipped around some information that he deemed unsuitable for a girl her age. She asked about John’s parents, what animals he liked, if he liked being a doctor, and many other fairly simple questions. John had never considered himself to be an interesting person, so the attention was odd, but it was touching that his daughter wanted to know him better.

They enjoyed themselves. In many ways, today felt to John like life was back to normal. It wouldn’t last for long, but the time spent in this state was soothing.

~

Around noon the next day, they received a call from David. John put his phone on speaker so that Rosie could hear the conversation.

“Hey John, when Rosie’s ready would you mind bringing her around? We’ve finally settled in with the baby. Be warned, we haven’t slept much, but now’s probably the best time for Rosie to meet her new sister.”

John and Rosie shared a look before John replied, “We’ll be right over,” and hung up. Rose stood and bolted for the master bedroom. John walked in to find her digging herself deep into his sheets. “Come on, you’re going home today!”

“I  _ am _ home!”

John pushed down the ache in his chest and attempted to dig her out. “You know you can’t stay here forever, sweetheart. Don’t you want to meet your little sister?”

“No!”

“Rosie!”

“No!”

John sighed and ceased scrambling through the bed’s sheets. “I’ve got you cornered! You’re all wrapped up! Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way!” He then wrapped his arms around her covered body and pulled her up. She playfully screamed and wriggled as John willed his spine not to give out on him. She was getting so big...soon she’ll be five years old...starting school…

His strength finally left him, but he did his best to gently lower her back to the bed, though he didn’t let go. “I know, I don’t want you to leave either, but you have to go home at some point.”

“.....Okay.” Rosie wrestled her way out and picked up her things dejectedly. 

“Maybe you’ll get another opportunity to stay here? Do you want to leave your spare clothes here, just in case?”

Rosie nodded, then tapped her way over to John’s drawers, opened one at random, and dropped her stuff in. 

“Perfect. Ready to go?”

~

John braced himself as they walked up to the front door of David and Victoria’s home. He could already hear the cries from a newborn. If he were able to, he would have spared Rosie the experience of living with a newborn, but he knew that her parents would not be keen on the idea.

Rosie looked up at him with a look on her face that screamed “take me back,” but John extended a hand to knock on the door. 

David answered, looking even more sleep deprived than he had the last time they met. He gave the two a weak smile, nodding for them to enter with a mumbled, “Come on in!”

Rosie took John’s hand as they entered, but she quickly dropped her hold and threw her hands over her ears as they approached the screaming child.

Victoria sat at the kitchen table with the newborn, trying in vain to calm her down. David knelt down and attempted to hush his newest daughter, succeeding to calm her down into hiccuping cries. John urged Rosie to step up and to check out her new sister and she reluctantly complied.

David shifted his position to allow Rosie a peak at the baby, tears still streaking her chubby, reddened cheeks. 

“Look, Emma,” Victoria whispered. “There’s your big sister! Say hi!” 

John watched the four from the opposite end of the kitchen. It was a beautiful scene, David’s arms lightly encompassing both his wife and his eldest child as Victoria and Rosie spoke in hushed tones to Emma, but the envy burned deep inside John. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his face away. In another life, perhaps he would have featured somewhere in a scene similar to this.

“Daddy, come look!” Rosie called out, whipping around to face John.

“John, would you like to hold her?” Victoria asked with a kind smile.

He put his hands up in defense. “Oh no, I don’t need to r-”

David pulled a chair out from the table, cutting him off. “Come on over! Have a seat.”

John shivered, but did as he was asked. He stiffly lowered himself into the chair, willing the tremor in his arms to cease. It’d been a long while since he’d held a baby, and the idea forced him to linger on the reality that he was without a family of his own. His eyes caught Rosie’s as Emma was carefully placed into his arms. John shifted the child into position on muscle memory. He could clearly recall the first time he held Rosie in his arms, the emotions running through him as he had imagined the rest of his life raising his own daughter, how proud he was to be a father.

John looked down at the baby, her cheeks flaming despite her now tranquil expression. If he let his mind wander, he could pretend that he was back in that moment; that he was a new parent, ready to live out the rest of his days with his steadily growing family. He held her gently and blinked back the tears as Rosie sidled up to them.

“It looks so weird and gross…” Rosie pointed out.

John laughed a bit. “You looked like this, too, once!” 

“Nuh-uh!”

“You did! I have proof!” John laughed at the offended pout on her face, then resumed looking over the baby swaddled in his arms. “I’d say she looks very healthy, in fact.”

“Thanks,” Victoria grinned. 

After a few minutes, John had gotten his fill and returned Emma to her mother’s arms. “Well, I’ll leave you all to it. I should be on my way.” He made to leave, but stopped short of the living room when he noticed he was being followed.

“John, thanks for taking care of Rosie,” David told him.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Maybe...you’ll be able to take her off of our hands again...at some point?” he hinted. 

John didn’t know whether to be deeply insulted or flattered by his sudden full trust, but chose to express the latter. “Yeah, I’d love to. Any time.”

David nodded and returned to his wife and his kids. John walked out, needing a moment to relax in his car before starting the engine and being on his way.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep saying this and not doing it, but I'm going to take a short break from posting! I'll still be working on this, I just want to make sure the quality is acceptable for the next 5 chapters or so ',:v}  
> If y'all wanna connect or ask questions, I'm dykebilbo on tumblr! (and twitter but its rare I go on there)  
> Thank you so much for reading over 20 chapters of this! Y'all are SO sweet

John entered his home, drained from an emotional couple of days. As nice as it was to have Rosie around, home, as though everything was alright, he knew there would come a crash the moment she returned to her real home. 

The second John’s pockets were empty of his keys and wallet, he had no idea what to do with himself. He wandered into his kitchen, where Rosie’s drawings remained. John carefully put her crayons back into their box and picked up the paper she drew on. He could vaguely make out the shapes of animals and flowers on the sheets of paper. Moved by the crude drawings of stick figure cats and petalled foliage, John stuck the sheets to his utterly bare fridge. It brightened the place up a little and served to cheer him up just a bit.

It wasn’t long before he grew tired, deciding that the day was awash at this point, and that a nap would be in order. He walked into his bedroom and found that his sheets were still a mess from wrestling his daughter out of them this morning, and he set to work putting them back on the mattress in the neat, crisp fashion that had been drilled into him.

His eyes caught sight of several items that had been tossed off of his nightstand the other night and he bent down to place them back on the table. One of these items was a familiar cloth. Picking up the handkerchief and worrying it in his hands, John suddenly realized that his phone had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past two days.

Abandoning the idea of sleep, John searched for his cellphone, then sent Rich a text.

“Hey! We’re still on for a drink this weekend, right?”

As he awaited a response, John put on the kettle and the television. He began to worry when his cup was made and he had yet to receive a response. It wasn’t typical for Richard to not reply within a minute or two…

Checking the time, John reasoned that Richard was likely on his way home from work, but just as he’d calmed himself down, his phone chimed.

**“Yeah, of course. If you’re free.”**

John smiled down at his phone. “Great! See you then!”

Reassured by their short exchange, John watched tv and caught up on his emails until his tea cooled off, forgotten on the table beside him, and he went to bed.

~

The week continued quietly with no further interruptions or surprise guests. It was almost worrying to John, who did his best to ignore the quiet in favor of reading a novel. He stared at the page, the words failing to meet his brain, but there was nothing else for him to keep busy. He placed his marker back into the page, shut the book, and set it to the side.

John looked at the time. It was still early in the day, and it would be another couple of days until he met up with Richard at the pub. Why he was being given the silent treatment by the man, he may never know, but nothing in him told him to be the first to reach out again.

He jumped when his phone chimed at him. John scrambled to pick it up, hoping Richard had  _ anything _ to bring to his attention, but deflated a bit when he saw it was from Hugo. ‘Stop being such a fucking downer, you have a friend who wants to talk to you!’ John opened the message and stared down at it.

“John! Haven’t heard from you in a bit! Hope you’re doing well!”

He thought for a moment, twisting and flipping the device between his hands nervously. ‘Really...another check-in?’ His mind wandered to Sherlock implying his dependency on others. John looked around the empty space of his home. ‘If I’m so dependent, then why am I alone? ...No, I’m perfectly fine! That bastard is just trying to plant these ideas in my head, and I won’t let him!’

John tapped out a response, telling Hugo that he was perfectly fine and to thank him for his concern in the nicest way he could manage. Hugo replied with some upcoming days he would be free to hang out with John if he was interested, to which John said he would keep the dates in mind. He wouldn’t really. He didn’t want for Hugo to babysit him.

As he thought about this, he pondered the idea that Richard had been babysitting him, and now that the man had gotten to know him a bit more, perhaps he was growing tired of pulling the weight of a grown man when he already had to worry over his family. This sent John into a slight panic. He couldn’t lose him, not now. He had to be more self-sufficient!

He sat in uncomfortable silence for another moment, then checked to see if his phone was simply failing to notify him of Richard’s texts. ‘Stop this!’ He internally growled at himself as he slammed his phone down on the coffee table. 

John pulled his laptop toward him and began searching for therapists in the area. He could accept that he was hopeless on his own, but he didn’t have to make it the problem of his friends and loved ones. When he was presented with a list of people, he placed his head into his hands. In finding his first two therapists, he applied the tactic of filtering the search to ‘female’ and picking whichever name sat at the top of the list, the bare minimum amount of thought put into his search. Needless to say, things hadn’t gone so well.

He wondered briefly if he should unload his issues on another man, but quickly dismissed the idea. It came more naturally to John to sit down and talk things through with a woman. Plus, how could he talk about...his attraction... to another man? No, it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. 

For the first time, John sat down and looked into the reviews and specialties of the women who appeared on this list. He hadn’t realized there was so much information out there on potential therapists - mostly because he detested the idea of needing to see one and put as little thought as possible into it - but it eased his mind to know that plenty of professionals claimed to be sensitive to lgbt+ issues. John scoffed, thinking of himself that way. Did he really need a label? It was hard enough to simply think of what he was. He shook his head, going back to the task at hand. 

Once he’d picked one out and set up his appointment online, he shut his laptop and leaned back into the sofa’s cushions and crushed his palms into his eyes. It was an exhausting process, but it had to be done.

Having that out of the way was one less item on his mental to-do list. John didn’t feel incredibly accomplished by this, but he did deem it enough to earn him a nap.

~

Half an hour before he was meant to leave, John’s doubts rained down on him, and he questioned whether or not he should go to the pub. Richard wasn’t texting him anymore...John could sympathize that he wasn’t the greatest company, but he would have preferred to be informed that Richard didn’t feel like talking to him anymore, and maybe what he had done wrong specifically.

Even though they had agreed to meet up, it secretly worried John that he would arrive at the pub to find he’d been stood up. Not that they were dating, and if Richard had more pressing issues, John could forgive him, but….

John had said he was going, and he would go. He spent less time grooming himself, half due to the idea that Rich wouldn’t even be showing up and half due to the amount of time he’d wasted in worrying over the man’s potential absence. He picked out his nicest shirt and jeans, sprayed himself down with cologne, and ran a comb through his hair. John looked into his own eyes in the mirror, disappointed. 

‘This will have to do.’

He stepped out and walked down to a main road to flag down a cab. Once he got his lift, he settled in and attempted to clear his head. It wouldn’t help him tonight to fret over the state of their friendship. It was fine! He was just busy….

All too quickly, the cab slowed down outside of the establishment. John paid the cabby and stood next to the pub’s alley. It wasn’t too late, he could still leave. The pain in his leg began to act up again, making the choice for him. He could use a seat.

John pushed past the solid wood door he’d not been through in weeks and made his way to his usual seat. He lifted his head and had a moment of eye contact with Graham, to which they both nodded at each other as John sat down, the larger man passing him his beer. ‘A drink will help me…’

“So when are you going to tell him?” the bartender asked as John took his first sip.

He stared at Graham over the rim of his pint in mild horror. After licking the foam away from his lip, John stuttered, “I-I’m sorry?”

“When are you telling my dumb oaf of a cousin that you like him, lad?” he questioned with a quirk of a scarred brow. John shivered. Had he been that obvious? Did Rich already know? Is this why he was avoiding him?

Instead of deflecting, John decided to be honest. He’d already been caught anyway. “I don’t know...Have I...given it away already? Does he know…?”

Graham shook his bald head with an exasperated expression. “You’re not great at hiding it, that’s for sure. Lucky for you, Richard is dumber than a sack of bricks.”

“He’s not that bad!” John chastised, though he was suddenly reminded of a story he’d once shared about diving drunk into a fountain in full daylight for a dare. “And even if he was, he more than makes up for it in being a kind and caring man!”

“If it helps you, I’ve seen people oggle him in and out of this bar. He hasn’t given a single person outside of family the level of attention he gives you since he was in his 20s!”

John shook his head. “That’s got to be an exaggeration. He’s...handsome. He must have been with someone since then!”

Graham placed his elbows on the bar’s counter and leaned in close. “I’m the closest friend he’s got. If he’d dated someone, I would be the first to find out, unless Dee picked it out of him. Maybe he’s had something casual since then, but I can assure you, he doesn’t waste his time with strangers.”

John folded his arms and blinked. Why was he telling him this? “Do you...do you think I have a chance, then?” 

“Just talk to him, lad,” Graham huffed before turning to prepare another drink.

A hand was laid on John’s shoulder, followed by a deep voice asking, “Is he harassing you?” John twisted around on his barstool to look up at Richard, who was just as gorgeous as he always was. He raised his thick brows in question.

“No, no, we were just talking! It’s fine!” John reassured him. Richard glared at Graham from across the counter as he passed him his ale. John nearly giggled from stress. The two could hold an entire conversation in a single glance, he’d better listen to Graham! 

Richard took his seat next to John, keeping his head and his gaze down as he took a large gulp of his drink. There was something lacking in his demeanor, John noted, but ignored in favor of downing his beer. Several minutes ticked away with no word between the two. While John was happy that the long haired man had shown up, the tense silence worried him more than if he’d belatedly called the night off. 

“So, uh...how was….” Richard began, his eyes trained on his dark ale. John took in the sight of his flickering eyes and nervous fingers as he tried to formulate his thought. “You said you had someone over last week? How’d that go?”

John pursed his lips. How should he go about this? “Yeah, it went well!” What else could he say? It wasn’t the right time to talk about Rosie…

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. What’s her name?” Richard implored, his eyes finally meeting John’s with a small upturn of his lips. 

‘What!? How did he know….?’ John’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He hadn’t implied anything about who he had over….how much did he know…? “Uh, R-rosie. Her n-name is Rosie.” John grabbed onto his own arm and tightened his grip, hoping to ground himself.

Richard flashed him a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “When were you planning on telling me about her?” he laughed nervously.

John swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted to - believe me - I just...it’s...difficult to talk about.”

A large hand rested on and rubbed circles into John’s back. Richard smiled at him, his expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry that it’s difficult, but I’m glad to hear that you’ve found someone, John.”

John furrowed his brow, entirely lost. “Found someone?” he questioned out loud to himself. He was suddenly reminded of the last text he’d sent while Rosie had stayed with him. Richard really thought he was ‘seeing’ someone? “No, god no, it wasn’t like that!” John raved. “I had…. _ family  _ over!”

Richard straightened immediately, the life slowly coming back to his face and posture. “Family?”

“Yes! Who did you think it was? My god…” 

Richard dug around in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out. John watched as he swiped his finger around the touch screen, then he flipped the device so that John could have a look. John took the phone in his hands and squinted down at the photo in front of him. It was a photo taken from the street outside of the cafe he went to with Rosie and Molly, though only Molly and John’s smiling face were visible.

“Someone sent me this from a blocked number. Assuming it might have been Sherlock trying to tell me something?”

John sniffed, his anger rising. ‘That fucking bastard! What is he trying to pull!?’ “Yeah...you’re probably right. Sounds like something Sherlock would do…”

“So is Rosie your other sister?” Richard asked him.

John put his face into his hands and dissolved into a fit of angry, nervous giggles. Thank FUCK Richard hadn’t actually been told about Rosie, but FUCK was Sherlock going to get it! Once he was back under control, he handed the phone back to Rich, who returned it to his pocket. “No, uh...The woman in that picture is Molly, the friend whose cats I looked after on New Year’s, if you’ll recall. Rosie...is the family I had over. I don’t have  _ another _ sister, just the one.”

Richard shrugged, then offered a chuckle. “You’ve probably met my entire family already, but I rarely even hear about your folks.”

John rolled his eyes and stole a sip of beer. “It’s for the best really. I hardly see them anyway.”

Following suit in returning to his drink, Richard hummed. “Harry added me on facebook.” John groaned, Richard laughing at him. “She said not to tell you, but I’d assumed you would figure it out on your own at some point. Guess I was wrong,” he ended in a wink. 

“Yes, yes, I’m technologically inept, laugh it up!” John bit back, though there was no real fire to his words. His earlier insecurities vanished into thin air as they both fell back into step with each other, but this only served to remind him of the past week of receiving no word from the man. “Speaking of technologically inept, have you had trouble with your phone? I haven’t heard from you all week!”

Richard rubbed at the condensation on his glass as he answered, “Yes there was uh...a slight issue. I got it fixed though, don’t worry about it.”

John nodded and went back to his drink. Of course he was overthinking it! As usual!

The two spent the rest of their night catching up on the previous week, Richard talking about the trouble his nephews had gotten into with their time off from school and the cleanup and repair he’d done after a client at work backed into the side of their autoshop. John avoided sharing too much about his week, only mentioning that he’d spent it reading, watching television and napping. 

Hours later, the two were sufficiently drunk and happy in each other’s presence. Before they parted ways for the night, Graham shot John a look. In his drunken state, he’d hardly paid it any mind, but as he woke the next morning, he knew what it had meant. He pushed the idea deep down in favor of turning onto his other side and falling back asleep. 

~

John replied to another of Richard’s texts, happy that they were back to their typical barrage of messages to each other. He was especially thankful since he was currently sitting in his new therapist’s waiting room. The stale environment of beige, beach paintings, and fake plants did nothing for his nerves.

“Watson?” called a young woman poking her head out of the office door. John quickly wrapped up his text, then stood and followed her to a back room. “Go ahead and have a seat, she’ll see you shortly!” she said with a cheery voice and smile, then shut the door for his privacy. The small room was full of diplomas and personal effects, though it retained the drab tones of the previous room. John leaned back in his seat, taking in what was on the table beside him. A box of tissues and a handful of magazines. 

He lifted his head at the sound of the doorknob turning, giving himself half a second to compose himself for his therapist’s arrival. He folded his hands over his crossed legs and took a deep breath before facing the woman who stepped into the room. She was dressed semi-professionally in loose clothing that draped over her round form, and her red hair fell loose over soft, friendly cheeks.

“Hello, you must be John? I’m Genevieve! A pleasure to meet you!” she said with a sweet smile in his direction, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she settled into the chair across from him.

John tensed at the contact, but did his best to mirror her expression. “Yes, you as well!”

Her eyes blinked at John for a moment before she took out her laptop and placed it on her lap, typing up what was certainly notes on everything she’d concluded just from being in the room with John for five seconds. He squirmed under her gaze, keeping his eyes lowered to her shoes, the rug, anything else to focus on instead of her analysis of his person. 

“Alrighty! Since this is our first visit together, I’d like to ask some questions to get to know you, if that’s okay?”

John nodded to her. It wasn’t like they would get anywhere fast if he refused.

“Of course, I have notes from your previous therapy sessions, but I’d like to get to know you personally. I want to know what  _ you _ have to say about yourself. Shall we get started?” she ended with a wide stretch of her red coated lips.

“Yeah, go for it,” John agreed. He hated this process. If she already had his notes, why did he have to go through this again? It was difficult enough to talk things out with someone he knew well like Rich or Greg or Molly - even Sherlock! - but he had to do this. This was only step one of a long, arduous process that he’d promised himself to put effort into.

“Great! So, what are your goals for therapy? What do you hope to accomplish by the end of this?” Genevieve stared up at him over the rim of her glasses as she awaited John’s response. He had never been good with this question. What was the least worrying way to say, ‘To hopefully stop being so fucked up?’

“I hope to...be able to go through life without….my past bothering me so much, I guess.” Genevieve nodded, a silent beg for John to continue this thought. “...I just want to move forward. It doesn’t help me to keep looking back.” This earned him another nod, with a sad smile. Another breath, and he prattled on, “I worry that my problems are becoming a burden to those around me, and I’d rather not make it their problem…”

“Mmmmm, I see. And what is it that makes you think you’re burdening the people around you?”

John crushed his fingers together and grimaced. “They…”

“Sorry, who is ‘they?’” she pried.

He cleared his throat and started his thought over again. “My...friends...and my daughter…” John paused to gauge his therapist’s reaction so far, and she met his eyes and smiled. “They feel the need to...watch over me. They stop by from time to time and...go above what they should have to…”

“And what do you mean by ‘going above?’ Does this come at a detriment to themselves?”

John thought to himself for a moment. “I wouldn’t say it’s detrimental, per se. I think it wears on them. I just don’t want them to think I’m unable to take care of myself.”

Genevieve tapped away on her keyboard while nodding her head, then looked back to John, her lips pursed. “Do you think this behavior is unusual? This is just my thought, but...maybe they don’t see you as helpless. Maybe they  _ want  _ to care for you because they  _ love _ you?”

John folded his arms and shook his head, but refrained from adding more.

“Alright, let’s move on to the next question, shall we?” Genevieve cheered. 

John winced. ‘That was only one  _ fucking _ question…?’ 

Feeling satisfied with their first topic, Genevieve decided to ask simpler, broader questions: did he feel pleasure in doing things, was he having trouble sleeping, was he eating regularly, etc. It went on for what felt like ages, though in reality, the session was only about forty five minutes long.

Genevieve quickly finished typing into her laptop, then shut it and set it to her side. “I would say that was a very productive first session! It was nice getting to meet you, John! You’re free to set up our next appointment together with Elizabeth, just around the corner here. Take care!”

John stiffly rose from his chair, bowing his head at Genevieve with a muttered, “Thanks, you too!” and made his way to the front desk to set up their next meeting. It had been a painful hour, his therapist’s sharp eyes seeming to stab into him at all angles throughout, but he’d committed himself to getting better, and he’d fulfilled his first step. 

Hours after he’d come home, John lingered on the conclusion of their first topic. Was he  _ loved _ ? It was hard to imagine that he was. Rosie, maybe, in the way one loves the person who raised them, and to the capacity that an almost-five-year-old could love. Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, or Sherlock? Well, he’d known them for years. They must feel somewhat responsible for him at this point. Richard…? No, ‘love’ probably wasn’t the right term for it, that would be silly. How long had they even known each other for? No, it was just in his nature to care about others. That was obvious from how he cared for his nephews and his sister, and the rest of his family for that matter. And he was family to him now, afterall….wasn’t he?

There was an obligation involved in all of his relationships.

His trance was broken when his phone sounded next to him. John’s eyes tore away from the ceiling and he extended his arm to pick his phone up from the coffee table. He adjusted his body from his position lying on the couch, to one where he wasn’t likely to drop his phone flat on his face, then swiped the device open. 

“ **Long day at work. Had a client curse me out today. What about you?** ”

John frowned down at the screen. “I’m sorry to hear that. I would have rather been in your position though. I hate going to therapy.” He hesitated on sending the text. Should he be so open? Richard had been the one to suggest that he seek therapy again, but would telling him about his sessions be taking things too far? John shrugged. The man had made it this far into knowing him, and he wasn’t likely to look down on him for taking his advice, so he hit send.

“ **Initial visit? Or have you been going?** ”

“Oh no, this was the first one. She had access to my old notes, but insisted on hearing from me herself.”

“ **I know it’s never easy to talk about. Did you get into anything deep today?** ”

John turned the words around in his mind. ‘Get into anything deep?’ he wondered. 

“ **Anything besides how often you sleep or what have you lol** ”

John huffed, then texted back, “Just a little bit. Setting goals, I guess.”

A moment passed before Richard responded, “ **I’m glad to know that you’re doing this. It’s difficult and uncomfortable, but I’m confident you’ll get something out of it once you’ve found the right person.** ”

“Thanks. And thanks for pushing me to do this. It would have been the last thing on my list to try going back. It’ll be nice to blame someone else if this doesn’t work out!” John sent with a wide grin on his face. 

“ **It won’t be my fault if you end up refusing to do your exercises!** ”

John rolled his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. He sunk back to his lying position. No, therapy wasn’t just about talking it out, he was expected to actively do things differently, but he was an old man - at least he felt impossibly old - and that meant he was set in his ways.

Another notification brought John’s attention down to his phone. He was surprised to see that it was from Desiree, who he hadn’t spoken to very often since he last saw her. John opened the facebook message, and watched as the screen of his phone flooded with pictures. ‘What’s all this?’

He enlarged the photos, each having their own distinct description. If he looked to the right of them, he could see comments from the rest of the Durin family. John scrolled through them all, realizing that they were taken throughout the full family visit. Picking them up from the airport, welcoming decorations at their flat, and…’Oh no…’

John paused when he saw that he was “tagged” in one of these photos, standing just outside their flat with a tray of biscuits. ‘ _ Did I really look like that? _ ’ Moving forward, he saw many familiar sights from the day he’d been invited over. Many smiling faces and happy comments.

He stopped once more on a photo where he was the center, most likely drunk, talking animatedly with Graham and Jed. Looking closer, John noticed the ridiculous look on Richard’s face, who in this photo had his chin rested on his hand as he stared at John. He laughed at his expression, not noticing his fingers pressing several buttons in the process. John was just about to exit when he read the text: “Make this your profile picture?”

Giggling to himself, he resized the picture and set it as his profile picture. Richard was sure to see it that way, and he couldn’t wait to poke fun at him for the goofy, no doubt drunk look on his face!

WIthin half an hour of setting this, his phone blew up with notifications. He didn’t even realize what “reactions” were until the post was drowned in hearts. When his phone continued to make noise, John shut it off so that he could get some sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm still here.  
> Not sure I can promise weekly chapters like I was doing for the first 20, might slow down to monthly updates.  
> But I'm still going!  
> Thank you guys so much for your interest in this fic <3 it helps kick my ass to continue!

“Let’s start here: what do you believe is the most pressing issue in your life right now?” Genevieve asked, her laptop in position atop her crossed legs.

John looked anywhere but her eyes as he grasped for a singular part of his life that caused him distress. He held in the urge to bounce his leg, instead opting to tap his fingers rhythmically on his seat’s wooden armrest. The seconds ticked on as he wracked his brain, failing to secure what exactly he needed to work on the most.

“We could start with anything! What’s the first thing that comes to mind?” 

The first thing to come to mind was his situation with Rosie. Her removal had been the event that brought the most shock to his life since Mary had passed. But this was only his second session, and he didn’t feel comfortable enough talking about his daughter quite yet.

In a rush to think of something else, John’s phone chimed in his pocket, alerting Genevieve. John dug his fingers into his tired eyes, then pulled the device out to turn it off, which he should’ve done before entering the room. “Sorry about that..”

She flashed a bright smile at him. “Don’t worry about it! Who was that?”

John brought a hand up to rub at his neck, a blush slowly creeping up to his cheeks. He didn’t check, but there was only ever one person who texted him. “A-a friend of mine…” he answered, unable to lift his gaze from the rug beneath him.

Genevieve’s smile widened a fraction as she leaned in. “ _ Just _ a friend...?”

John was used to invasive inquiries into the nature of his friendships - mainly from the days before he’d recognized his feelings for Sherlock - but even so, his first reaction was to snap at the accusation. He caught himself before the words could leave his mouth. Graham was right, he was obvious...He took a moment to reorganize his thoughts, then John conceded, trying to hold the disappointment from entering his tone, “Yeah. We’re just friends.”

“Is this something that is pressing to you? Are you looking for something more with them?”

He absently tapped his heel repeatedly. John knew he wasn’t going to make it anywhere in these sessions if he didn’t speak up. “I...w-wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out. His muscles began to tighten in short spasms. A hand flew to his mouth to worry at his lip. 

“Would you like to tell me a little bit about them?” Genevieve pushed. John cursed himself for throwing himself into a corner. His discomfort must have been visible as his therapist redirected conversation again. “Here’s a better question! What are the things or people in your life that are causing problems for you?”

“Oh, that’s a tough one. Where do I even start…” John said to himself, placing his face in his hands. Genevieve gave a comforting giggle, then paused, allowing John some time to think.

The limited time they had in this session was draining, so she offered a push, “It says here you were married. Is that correct?” John glanced down at the ring on his finger and nodded. Genevieve shifted as she prepared to ask the next question. “It also says that you lost your wife in an accident? Would you mind talking about that? It would help me to better understand your position.”

“What is there to talk about? She’s gone. I’ve gotten over that, for the most part,” he dismissed. 

“You’re still wearing your wedding band.”   
  


“Yes…I…”

“May I ask why that is?”

John remained silent for another moment, then decided that there was no point to formulating an answer in his head, that he should just start talking. “I’ve come to terms with her passing, but...I...guess I’m lacking in...closure.” 

Genevieve nodded. “What sort of closure?”

John took a deep breath. “...I don’t know if Mary...really loved me.”

She pursed her lips and nodded again, only to be interrupted by John’s shaking voice.

“And...I...I cheated on her. Just before she died. I never told her...I should have told her. I wanted to tell her, but...so much was happening...we never had the time to...sit down and talk.”

“And you feel guilty about this still?” John nodded, then she continued. “What was your relationship like?”

John blinked back tears. “Nothing physical, we hardly even met each other in person, we just talked. Texted. I just wanted someone who would-”

Genevieve stopped him there. “No, no, your relationship with Mary. What was your marriage like? What leads you to believe that she didn’t love you?”

John swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened his back. “Before we were married, everything was perfectly fine. Great even! I was...happier than I’d been in years. For a time. Then, we got married and...something didn’t feel right to me.”

“Could you describe that for me? Were you having second thoughts about marriage? What happened?”

Taking in a shaky breath, he pushed forth. “Well, uh...a friend of mine had...recently come back into my life, and...that...complicated things…” John reassured himself that he could talk about Sherlock, that he’d made sure to find a therapist who would be accepting of him. “We had...uh, I had a history...with him. Somewhat. I felt close to him, but we never...I don’t think that he…”

“You had feelings for this friend, but they were never expressed or returned?” she aided. 

John nodded. “Yes. Before he returned, I only ever saw it as one sided, but...he came back and...he acted...differently. I thought that...maybe there was something there, but I couldn’t act on it, because by then, I was engaged and in the process of getting married! And then...I was married...I-I only recently...sort of, came to terms with...myself. That’s a whole other story. Sorry, what were we talking about?”

Genevieve smiled. “What was your marriage with Mary like?”

John could have smacked himself. Everything he thought about circled back around to Sherlock, didn’t it? “Right. We got married, and something didn’t feel quite right. I soon found out that...she’d been lying about who she was. Her entire identity had been fabricated in an attempt to escape her past. She’d lied about absolutely everything.”

Genevieve typed up some notes, then nodded sympathetically. 

“After I found out...we lived separately for a few months. I couldn’t stand to see her anymore. But...eventually I’d fought with myself enough. If she wanted to be Mary and if she wanted to leave behind her past and move forward, then I could look past all that. I wanted to love her, I wanted a family, and we already had a child on the way.”

He brushed the tears away from his eyes before they could fall. FUCK he hated this, but the words kept flowing from his mouth. “Just a while after our kid was born, she ran away, back to her old ways. She insisted that she loved me, and wanted to live her life with me, but...she never let me in. She could have told me what was bothering her! That she needed help! But no, she took it upon herself to run off with little more than a letter goodbye!”

As he got his breathing under control from his rant, Genevieve typed a few more notes. “And how does that make you feel, John?”

“Angry! Depressed!” he gesticulated. “I felt...useless. And I was! She didn’t feel like she could trust me to help her handle her situation. I wanted to be there for her, but she wouldn’t let me. We made a promise...I don’t even know why she stayed with me!” He sniffed and blinked back more tears. “I didn’t provide her anything! And she constantly berated my worth!”

Genevieve attempted to step in, but John continued. “COULD YOU IMAGINE? Waking up in the middle of the night to look over at the person you’re married to, to the person you’ve had a child with, and thinking to yourself: ‘I don’t know who this person is, or if they’ll still be here the next time I wake up?’” John laughed miserably to himself, burying his face in his hands once more. “...And it turns out! The kid wasn’t even mine…!”

John listened to the rhythmic tapping of Genevieve’s keyboard. He focused on the noise in an effort to empty his mind. It was too difficult to think about all of this at once. One thought always led to the next, and he spiraled out of control. His eyes dried and the typing ceased and he looked up.

“John, was there anything that assured you about Mary’s love?” she asked hesitantly. 

His heart felt too bruised and battered to go on, but he searched his memories for more pleasant moments he’d shared with Mary. “We were...fairly physical...I was never left wanting when it came to sex.”

“You said that she berated you? Did she ever have any kind words to say to you?”

John thought for a moment. “I can’t recall any. She would joke about my appearance and my usefulness and…” he trailed off.

“John, why do you still feel guilty for cheating on her emotionally? To me, it sounds as though you were filling a void left by your relationship with Mary, and that’s taking her issues lightly!”

He shook his head as his eyes began to water again. “I shouldn’t have done it! I wanted to be a good husband! A good father! And I couldn’t even do that! This woman just appeared and...she was nice to me, in a way that no one else was. I mean, even that wasn’t real! She didn’t even feel that way about me! I’ve been single ever since Mary died. No one  _ actually _ likes me! I can’t trust anyone anymore…”

Genevieve nodded, reviewing her notes as she listened. Their time was almost up. “What about your friend who tried to get a hold of you earlier? To me, it didn’t sound like you can’t trust them? Is this the same friend who came back into your life during your marriage?”

John sighed. ‘I guess I should start using names or this will get confusing fast…’ He cleared his throat. “Uh, no. I...I met Richard...a while back. I do trust him, more than I would trust anyone else, but...I do sometimes worry that...that it’s some sort of joke that someone’s playing on me. That he’s been hired to be my friend or that he’s faking an interest in me…” At the odd look she gave him, he clarified, “It’s complicated. But...I do like him. With him, I...feel more secure than I have in years.”

A timer went off in the corner of the room, and Genevieve turned it off. “Alright! Great session!” John’s body relaxed in his seat, thankful that it was finally over. He shivered as the tension left him. “John, I’d like to recommend something. A couple of things, if you will?”

“Y-yes?” he asked, exhausted. 

“I’ll start with the more difficult one. Why not tell Richard how you feel?”

John scoffed. Well if it were that simple, he would’ve done it!

“Right,” she smiled, as though she could read his thoughts. Her expression returned to neutral. “You wear that ring, because you feel guilty for cheating on Mary, yes? Try to put it away. Find a drawer or a lockbox or something similar. Allow yourself to forgive and forget. Could you do that for me?”

John fiddled with the ring on his finger, then nodded. “I’ll...try.”

From the moment their session was over, John thought long and hard about what his relationship with Mary had truly meant. This forced him into examining all of his relationships, his friends, his family. Had anyone ever loved him, fully or partially? At all? Had anything been real?

He stretched his stiff back. There he was, stuck to his couch again. Thanks to this morning’s therapy appointment, John was thrown back into ruminating on his relationship with Mary, making the attempt of sleeping the day away in his own bed far less appealing. 

John sat up and twisted his torso, popping the joints along his spine, which as pleasing as it sounded, brought him no relief. He flopped back into his lying position, then extended his arm out to the table next to him as his phone made continuous noise at him.

**“Looks like I’m off work early.”**

**“What to do with the rest of the day?”**

**“You aren’t busy are you?”**

“For you? Never.” John sent. Good ol’ Richard. He was a welcome distraction. 

**“How’s your day been so far? Get anything done?”**

John contemplated acting like he hadn’t received that last text in favor of maintaining the facade that he was doing just fine. He gave up on this. He wouldn’t be expected to explain anything, it was okay to tell the truth.

“It’s been fine. I had therapy earlier. It went alright.”

**“Do you want to talk about it?”**

“I’ve been talking all morning!”

**“LOL. I’m just saying, you can talk to me too if it helps you.”**

Of course John knew that, Richard had always been very clear to him about this, but….”You don’t have to worry over me, you know.” He instantly regretted his word choice upon Richard’s reply.

**“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just want you to know that there’s someone out here who wants to help you.”**

John groaned to himself. He couldn’t deal with this, wasn’t in the mindset. “I know, and I appreciate it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me. What about you? I don’t think I’ve asked how you’re doing. I’m really not that great of a friend. I don’t know why you bother with me.” He dropped the device on his stomach and sulked. Really, why did he bother? What was there to gain from such a miserable, pathetic creature?

He ignored his phone for another moment, but the chiming quickly got onto his last nerve. 

**“I like you John and I care about you. It comes with being friends. What makes you think I’m babysitting you? I’m sure you can see I’m doing just fine myself. It helps having you around.”**

John blinked down at the screen. He knew he was in a mood and whinging over nothing, but it was nice to be assured of their relationship. He replied to the question in Rich’s text.

“A while ago, Sherlock told me I’d roped people into taking care of me, as opposed to taking care of myself. If it’s a burden, please don’t feel the need to care for me.”

**“If I ever meet that prick, things are going to get ugly…”**

John snorted. If he had his way, he would never let the two meet, but knowing Sherlock, it wasn’t likely that John could keep that from happening. ‘Oh well, that’ll be on him, then.’

**“I think you’re doing a great job of taking care of yourself John. It’s not easy to go back to therapy when you’ve previously given up on it. I only offer a bit of help if you want it, okay?”**

“Thank you.” John smiled, his heart warm and his mood greatly improved. He laid back and wondered how his life may have gone differently if he’d known this man sooner. 

**“Are you busy today?”**

“No, not at all. Do you have something in mind?” John watched the ellipses bounce as Richard typed his response.

**“Want to go out for lunch? My treat.”**

John sat up and pushed himself off the sofa. “Sounds great! Where are we going?” Richard sent him the address and John readied himself.

~

He was thankful to find an empty spot to park his car along the pavement. John looked across the street at the restaurant Richard had suggested. His eyes stopped once they caught the man sitting out on the patio, staring down at his phone. John snickered to himself and pulled out his own phone, sending a text. 

“I see you!”

Richard spun his head this way and that in search of him, John staring on fondly. He finally got out of his car, and stood there, waiting to be noticed. When Richard spotted him, a smile spread across his bearded cheeks. 

John stepped forward, slightly enchanted, then perplexed as Richard’s face suddenly changed, and he motioned with his free hand. John furrowed his brow in confusion, then yelped as a man on a bike shouted at him, swerving out of the way. He watched as Richard laughed at him from across the street, no doubt at John’s furiously flushed face.

Broken out of his spell, John hurried across the road and dropped down into the seat opposite his friend. Too embarrassed to meet his eye, John kept his gaze lowered to the table. Richard adjusted himself, crossing his arms, drawing John’s eyes to the sleeves of his leather jacket, then further along to his chest - blatantly exposed by the cut of his t-shirt, and up further to his upturned lips, framed by neatly trimmed facial hair.

“That’s what you get for hiding from me and trying to make me look silly, you know,” Richard’s voice nearly growled at him. John laughed nervously, hoping that his affections for the man weren’t too obvious. Oh, who was he kidding? He nearly got run over while ogling him!

“Hello, John! What can I get for you two?”

John’s stomach dropped when the waiter next to him called him by name, but eased slightly as he saw who it was. “Adam! I didn’t realize you lived close by!” He then looked Adam up and down. “Or that you worked.”

“Well, I do...both of those things...I suppose...Gotta save up for uni, yeah?” Adam shook his head, his red hair falling out of its style a bit at the action. “Anyway, how about I grab you a menu?”

“Oh, sure!” John said. Adam stole a menu off of another table and handed it to John before running off. He didn’t envy him, working in the service industry. John had been fired from plenty of those jobs back in the day.

Once he decided on getting a sandwich or whatever, John laid the menu down and looked at Richard, who seemed to blink out of a trance suddenly. He smiled, looked away, and huffed a laugh. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it today!” Richard reached a hand up to pull back his hair, still a bit wet from a shower, the smell of it wafting through John’s senses.

John breathed in and nodded. “That’s alright, I’ve felt the same way since...earlier…”

Richard crossed his arms on the table and gave John a gentle look. “Not to ‘babysit’ you, but if you’d like to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

Adam quickly dropped by to take their orders, then dashed off again. The quick intervention gave John a moment to contemplate opening up. He could comfortably tell Rich what was bugging him.

John spun the ring that was still firmly on his finger. “At therapy, we talked about...Mary...my wife…” Richard nodded, then he leaned back in his seat, arms still crossed, with a sympathetic and focused look on his face. 

“We talked about...our marriage. The affair. She suggested I put my ring away, but...I just can’t forgive myself. It eats away at me sometimes.”

Rich nodded again and attempted to give advice, “I haven’t heard a lot of good things about Mary. From the sound of things, I don’t think she treated you very well. Why wouldn’t you have cheated?”

John shook his head. “That’s not the point. I don’t care if it’s justified! I shouldn’t have….and I never got to tell her…I think I did love her, but I’m not so sure she loved me.” John cleared his throat and paused for a few moments. “I can’t even sleep in my own bedroom sometimes. All of her things are still there and I just don’t have the heart to trash it. It makes...a lot of things difficult.”

“Do you need help?”

“Rich, I’m  _ getting  _ help! I’m already trying to do this therapy thing agai-”

“No,” Richard shifted forward, leaning onto the table. “Do you need help clearing out her stuff?”

John exhaled and rubbed his temple. “I can’t just throw out her stuff, I-”

“We can donate it. Clothes, makeup. It’ll all go to good use at a women’s shelter. Assuming it’s not getting much use in your home?”

Richard said this last part genuinely, but it still caused John to crack up at the image. He shook his head. “No, no...I’m not so sure that’s my thing.” Richard arched a brow and smiled, so John amended with another laugh, “Actually,  _ I am sure _ that’s not my thing.”

“Shame,” Richard replied, shaking his head. 

John had no idea how to react, but was thankfully saved by Adam dropping off their food. “Anything else I can get for you two?”

“Nope, looks great!” John said reflexively. “Thanks, Adam.” Adam smiled and left to check up on another table. 

“I’m willing to help clear out her things. Only if that helps you, of course,” Richard reminded as he bit into his food.

John couldn’t help but stare a moment, as he’d yet to watch the man eat. They’d always sat beside each other, so staring would’ve been inappropriate, but from their position, John was given a very helpful view.

“....Something wrong? Sauce on my face?” Richard asked.

“What? No! Sorry! Spaced out! Uh…” John thought about it. It would be a good idea to clean out his home. Perhaps it would help him to detach himself from thinking of Mary. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll work on digging up some boxes.”

Richard bobbed his head as he chewed, then swallowed. “Great. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Will do.” John broke away from conversation and began to eat. A sandwich wasn’t much, but it made him feel good to eat something that wasn’t served in styrofoam or plastic. He really needed to get back onto those cooking lessons….

“Did you discuss anything else?” Richard asked politely, his brows raised in question. 

John chewed slower to allow himself time to think, his eyes roaming the table. “That was it. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Richard pushed, his piercing eyes leveled at John’s as he popped his thumb into his mouth to clean it. 

John swallowed and averted his gaze. ‘I can’t just say we talked briefly about how much I like you, you insufferably gorgeous man…not yet...’ John busied himself in his food, letting the conversation end there with a smirk on his lips.

Adam returned, breathlessly leaving them their bill. “Alright guys. I’m off the clock! Someone else will be around to look after you shortly!”

“Nice to see you, Adam. Say hello to Jed and Mark for me!” John waved.

“Alright. Take care!” Adam waved back, turning a pointed look to Richard as he retreated. 

They finished their meal together, interspersed with Richard rambling about work that day and why he’d gotten off so early (a scheduling error). John appreciated that he’d wanted to spend the rest of his day off with him. After a brief fight over who would pay the bill - Richard being sure to remind John that he had been the one to invite him to come out and therefore  _ he _ was treating - they walked on across the road to John’s car, both struggling to find a proper end to their day together.

“D-did you need a ride?” John asked. “I know it’s not far from your place, but I wouldn’t mind dropping you off, if you’d like?”

A conspiratorial look grew over Richard’s face. “Sure. I don’t believe I’ve seen the inside of your car yet!”

John chuckled, “I see! Well, Mr. Mechanic, are you eager to pick out the flaws of my car?”

“Yeah, let’s have a look,” Rich said as he made his way to the passenger door.

John unlocked the car, allowing him inside. As they each settled in their seats, shutting their doors, the noise of the world around them muffled, causing John’s full focus to fall on their close proximity to each other, and how little space surrounded them, almost crushing in its atmosphere. John stared at the larger man as he looked around the interior of his car, then cleared his throat. “So...what do you think?”

Richard shrugged. “Looks like a car…” John gave him a playful swat on the chest, eliciting a fit of giggles from his friend. It was difficult to drive the couple of blocks to Richard’s home without looking over at him every chance he got. He was thankful, having the opportunity to be with Rich for just a few more minutes before John went home himself. 

The thought of being in his home alone filled John with ennui. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe throwing out Mary’s things would help him to move forward and stop thinking about her so often. It would be nice to move on with his life, and to finally be comfortable sleeping in his own bed again.

Stopping just outside Richard’s flat, John looked up in time to see Desiree wave from the window. John waved back. “Was she waiting on you to come back?”

Richard sighed. “I don’t know what she wants.” Both men turned back to watch as Desiree opened the window and shouted down at them, a large grin on her face. Neither being able to hear her, Richard rolled his eyes at John and opened his door, stepping onto the pavement and shouting back, “What?”

John couldn’t help but laugh. Watching the siblings interact made him feel a bit nostalgic for moments shared with his own sister, though he certainly wouldn’t want to be put in that position in front of Richard.

Dee repeated herself, and John watched as an affronted look fell over Richard’s face. “What did she say?” John asked.

Richard ducked his head back into the car and shook his head. “N-nevermind that. I’ll see you Saturday?”

John nodded, his lips twitching upward as they made eye contact with each other. “Yeah, I’ll see you then. Take care.” Richard stepped out fully, closing his door gently, and gave a final wave to John before turning his back to him and making his way up the steps to his flat. John pulled his gaze away from him and made his way home.

His thoughts lingered on the man until John had entered his own flat. He bent down to pick up the letter that sat just beyond his door, unmarked. He sighed and opened it to find another cryptic note. John walked it over to the bin before the thought struck him: he had to be civil with Sherlock.

A fist tightened at his side as John slammed the note down on the kitchen table. ‘Fine. I’ll deliver it to him, but I’m gonna make that bastard wait on it!” John walked into his bedroom, taking stock of which drawers were filled with Mary’s belongings. He turned his head to the adjoined bathroom, which was filled with all sorts of soaps, scents, and whatnot that were caked in dust. John gulped. ‘Yeah,’ he thought to himself. ‘I am going to need help with this.’

~

John trudged up the steps of 221B with the letter in hand. Why he was the one put on this mailing list, he’d never understand. His headache grew as he noticed the faint light coming from his old flat, as well as the soft plucking of violin strings. He took a deep breath and entered. 

“About time you showed up,” Sherlock voiced as he flung himself off the sofa, laying his violin to the side. 

John held down his frustration. “I assume you’ll be wanting this?” he held out the envelope to the detective, who snatched it from his hands and wandered across the room. His sharp eyes darted back and forth across the page as he stuck out his arm and grabbed a book from his pile.

The book hit John in the chest, the pages fluttering. John’s hands came up to catch it, the muscles in his face aching in their angry contortion. How was he supposed to be civil with this man?

“Turn to page 293. The second to last paragraph contains an excerpt fr-”

“I’ve already told you,” John began, his voice low, testing, “I am not helping you anymore, Sherlock.” He slapped the book down on the coffee table, awaiting Sherlock’s response. He refused to put himself in harm’s way again. He’d been very clear about this. He would no longer risk his life for the sake of this man’s games.

“Please?” he pleaded. Before John could open his mouth to protest, he continued, “Please. Just this. Just help me to decode this. I won’t ask you to run off into the night with me. I won’t lead you into any more dangerous situations. Just, please...sit with me. It helps me think, having you by my side.”

John fully realized that he was being manipulated, and was certain that the next available opportunity, he’d be dragged out by the detective for another chase, but he always knew the right words to get him to stay. He hated how predictable he was, but he loved to feel needed, and if Sherlock insisted that he needed him, he would stay. 

He sighed, picked the book back up, and sat himself on the sofa, flipping to the page Sherlock had mentioned. 

“Thank you.”

John grunted in response. 

It was only a matter of moments before they’d fallen into their old rhythm. Bickering over several cups of tea throughout the night suited them. He’d be lying if John said he didn’t miss these days. He did, though the tone of their meetings was unshakably altered by the last few years of their acquaintance. They would never return to the days before Sherlock faked his death. The calm silence, the unspoken love - only mentioned through kind gestures. 

It wasn’t worth it to dwell on the past now, John told himself. He was moving forward, and maybe Sherlock would continue to be a part of that. Maybe they would both learn to fall into comfort with each other again - maybe Sherlock was too in his head to interpret John’s discomfort - and maybe things would be alright between them anyway.

The night wore on, the tea ran cold and stagnated. John laid down on the old sofa as his brain failed to comprehend the words in front of him any longer. He’d hardly noticed as his eyelids slid closed and a blanket was thrown around him. 


End file.
